Vasi Extremi
by AijouSakura
Summary: He had needed more time. But time was not his to have, and so the plans had to be set in motion. Led by their child protegy, the children would fight and die. For he would dominate. The Boy Who Lived would Die. Vires Incommitatus Redone!
1. intii diversi

Assorted Beginnings  
  
initii diversi  
  
The post-owl that brought his news had a difficult time getting in. Mid- summer in Sussex tended to be hot and muggy, and this year was no exception. The humidity was unnaturally high, and this appeared to have interest effects on wooden objects, more specifically one window at 14 Privet drive. Harry had been trying for the last few days to get it open, to no avail, and so when he was drawn from his book by the harsh screech of an owl he jerked up, surprised.  
  
There, perched at the foot of his bed, was a small brown owl, a letter attached to its leg. The bird pecked irritably at the bed-post for a moment, then fluttered its wings. On the other side of the room, safely in the confines of her cage, Hedwig gave the other owl a look of pure disgust. Harry smiled fondly at her, and took the letter from the leg of the strange bird. He waited, expecting the screech owl to take off now that its task had been completed, but instead it stayed perched on his bed, staring at him. Harry shrugged and turned to the letter.  
  
It was sealed with the Hogwarts Crest, addressed in the shimmering ink that was the school's trademark. Harry broke the seal and took out a single peace of paper. When he saw the title written at the top of the page he winced.  
  
Ordinary Wizarding Levels: Results for Mr. Harry Potter  
  
Astronomy - A  
  
Care of Magical Creatures - O  
  
Charms - E  
  
Defence Against the Dark Arts - O  
  
Divination - P  
  
Herbology - A  
  
History of Magic - A  
  
Potions - E  
  
Transfiguration - E  
  
Any students who wish to take a make-up practical examination should indicate this on the reverse side of this parchment. Make-up examinations will be conducted on the first day of classes, with the approval of the supervising professor. Students should indicate this, as well as the courses they wish to continue with next year, on the reverse side of this parchment.  
  
Harry looked down at his grades, stunned. He had expected the 'P' in Divination, considering how horribly he'd done, but everything else was amazing. He'd hoped, of course, for the 'O' in Defence, and he had thought he might be able to scrape 'E's in Charms, but his grades for Care of Magical Creatures and Transfiguration were more than he had hoped for. And, wonder or wonders, he had gotten an 'E' in Potions! He was ecstatic, until he suddenly remembered something that Professor McGonagal said to him in his Careers Advice consultation.  
  
"Poisons and antidotes are essential study for Aurors. And I must tell you that professor Snape absolutely refuses to take students who get anything other than "Outstanding" in their OWLs, so-"  
  
His heart fell. He had managed to get high enough marks in every other subject he needed, except for Potions. The letter did say that he could try to make-up the mark for his examination, but he somehow doubted that Snape would be sympathetic. The Potion Master's dislike for him had grown intensely over the last year, and Harry didn't think that the summer would do anything to change it. Still, there weren't exactly many options for him. He flipped over the piece of parchment.  
  
Along the left side was a list of possible classes. Beside each class were two small boxes. The heading above one read 'course selected', while the second column was marked 'proposed make-ups'. At the very top of the page was what seemed to be a demonstration row: in the box beside the words "your selected course", a black check-mark continued to tick itself off and then vanish.  
  
Quickly Harry checked off the courses that Professor McGonagall had told him that he would need: Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions, the latter checked in the 'proposed make-ups' column. Then he scanned the remaining options. Sixth-years were required to take eight classes, which left room for four other choices, except that it was really three; the box beside History of Magic already contained a heavy black check-mark. From the list Harry selected Advanced Magics, which looked interesting, and Magical Wards and Protections, which Harry thought might come in handy when facing Dudley. He debated for a moment longer, and then selected Herbology rather than Care of Magical Creatures. His love of Hagrid aside, he thought that Herbology stood a much greater chance of actually being useful to him. He would just have to visit Hagrid more often, that's all.  
  
Choices made, Harry re-folded the letter and put it back in the Hogwarts envelope. He watched with some fascination as the letter resealed itself, then looked at the screech owl still perched at the foot of his bed. He attached the letter to its leg and watched as it circled his room once, then soared out of his bedroom door.  
  
Harry looked over at Hedwig, then went to her cage and took a bag of Owl Treats from the table nearby. He opened the cage and she moved over to the door, rubbing against his hand almost like a cat. When he gave her the treat, Hedwig took it and hooted softly, then nibbled on his finger. Harry closed the door to her cage. Hedwig settled her feathers and returned to her perch in resigned acceptance.  
  
Then Harry left his room. There were things he had to accomplish that day, he reflected. One thing in particular required the use of the telephone, which would mean that he would have to risk facing the Dursleys. Even so, he had better things to do than hide in his bedroom.  
  
He had just entered the living room when he found them. Dudley and his friends seemed to have just come in; they were all red-faced and sweating horribly, gathered in the kitchen while one boy rooted through the fridge in search of something cold. When they saw Harry, all but the latter left the kitchen and moved into the living room. They formed a semi-circle, with Dudley in the centre.  
  
"There was an owl in the kitchen," he said, staring at Harry. He crossed his arms, and his muscles bunched.  
  
"That's not possible," Harry answered. He put an expression of knowing boredom on his face, not allowing himself to be intimidated. "Owls are nocturnal."  
  
Dudley frowned for a moment, his giant forehead furrowing with intense concentration. His gang members seemed similarly confused.  
  
"It means they only come out at night," Harry supplied feeling, for the first time, that he might have an idea of what Hermione felt sometimes talking to him and Ron. He vowed to be more intelligent in the future. Meanwhile, light had dawned on Dudley's face and then vanished, replaced with annoyance at being bested.  
  
"Well," he said provocatively, "it was there. We all saw it; flew in the door and out the window, didn't it?" Noises of agreement came from the other members of the gang. Harry raised his eyebrows and shrugged dismissively.  
  
"Whatever you say," he scoffed. There was a slight pause as Dudley struggled to come up with something to say.  
  
"Let's beat him up!" one of the gang members suggested eagerly to fill in the gap.  
  
"He thinks he's so smart," another boy agreed. "Thinks he's so much better than us; we could show him easy."  
  
Harry grinned. This was a familiar environment, an easy win for him. He leaned on the wall crossing his arms and forcing himself to physically relax. He put on a look that actually reminded him quite a bit of Malfoy, and smirked.  
  
"Yeah, Big D," he mocked. "You're going to try and take me on? I don't know, you really think you can? I mean there's, what, seven of you, and only one of me. Those odds really are against you here. Or," he paused somewhat theatrically. "do you think you really need your friends to help you? Can't take me on yourself?"  
  
"There's nothing to stop me," Dudley growled. He uncrossed his arms and punched one fist into the other hand menacingly. "I heard what happened last year. You try any of your little tricks and they won't let you back into that little freak school of yours. No one'll help you this time; I hear you went to court and everything. You're not so great, are you? And you're precious Godfather's not showing his face much anymore. What happened to him?"  
  
Harry swallowed quickly to steady his voice. "No," he agreed with forced cheer, ignoring the jibe at Sirius. "You're right, I can't do anything. But, if any of my Godfather's friends hear about it - well, there's nothing at all to stop any of them from using any tricks they want. And, you know, they're all just looking for an excuse to do something, now that they've heard what's been going on here."  
  
Dudley's gang looked confused. Dudley looked murderous.  
  
"Come on," he said briskly. "He's not worth our time."  
  
"But Dud," one of the smaller boys protested with a whine. "He deserves a pounding, and it'd be so easy!"  
  
"Let's go!" Dudley bellowed, giving the kid a shove and propelling him out of the room. As they left, Harry heard another one ask,  
  
"But what did he mean?"  
  
As soon as they were out of sight, Harry clenched his fists. Some day, he vowed, he would pay Dudley back for everything he'd done. While there was a certain satisfaction in outwitting him, it wasn't really very heard. Compared to Draco Malfoy, Dudley was a rotten vegetable mentally. A malicious rotten vegetable.  
  
Slowly he closed his eyes and concentrated on absolutely nothing. He felt his irritation and hatred leaving him until he was floating in oblivion, much like the peace of the Imperius Curse. When he blinked free of it he was relatively certain that his voice would sound cheerful and untroubled. He picked up the telephone and dialled. After a few seconds, he heard the other end click and a voice spoke.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Professor Moody," Harry exclaimed. The ex-Auror's voice sounded uncertain, despite almost an entire month of frequent conversation. In fact, Harry could almost picture the old man sitting on a chair, wand pointed at the telephone. If dustbins could attack, logically telephones were almost more dangerous.  
  
"Harry, my boy." Moody sounded relieved. "How are you? How've you been?"  
  
"Not much has changed since I last called," Harry answered. "It's so hot out that there's really nothing to do, I've been doing a lot of reading. Not much else."  
  
"And how have your relatives been treating you?" Moody pressed.  
  
"Thanks to you, it's been great." Harry was thankful for the concern, but decided it would be prudent not to mention the events of the last five minutes. "Everyone's terrified of you; you made a great impression at the train. Uncle Vernon's terrified, and Dudley hasn't tried to do anything at all." A lie, technically or even not technically, but Harry didn't see the need to tell the precise truth.  
  
"I'm glad." Moody sounded more relieved than seemed necessary. "Listen, Harry, I'm glad you called. If you hadn't, I would have probably been forced to . telephone . you instead. Remus wanted to talk to you as soon as possible. If you don't mind talking to him?"  
  
"Of course not," Harry replied, mildly confused.  
  
"Perfect. If you'll wait a moment I'll see if I can find him." There was a flurry of noise on the other end, and the sounds of people shouting. Harry thought he could make out the shrieking voice of Mrs. Black, some distance away, and there was a series of sharp bangs before the receiver was picked up again.  
  
"Have you tried a Silencing charm?" Harry asked, suddenly getting the idea.  
  
"Hello to you too, Harry," Lupin chuckled. "And yes, we have, early on. Blasted woman seems to have cast every possible charm on the canvas before she had herself painted onto it; we've tried silencing it, covering it up, we even tried to wipe the canvas; drastic measures, but . at any rate, the painting's remained impervious to everything we've done."  
  
"Oh." Harry shrugged. "Just a thought."  
  
"It's a good idea," Lupin agreed. "Pity it didn't work. Anyways, that's not why I wanted to talk to you. Molly told me that you normally spend most of August at the Borrow, with the Weasleys?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry answered.  
  
"Well, with recent events the way they are, the Weasleys have been spending the summer at Grimmauld Place. However," Lupin continued when Harry made a noise of disappointment, "that doesn't mean that you have to stay with your Aunt and Uncle. You would be most welcome here, if you wanted to come instead. In fact, I would request that you do come, unless something is preventing you for some reason or other."  
  
"Um," Harry frowned. "Yeah, of course, I'd love to," he answered. "But, um, I don't understand why. Last year Mrs. Weasley was going on about how I was much too young to do anything and, well, it's only been a year and I'm still younger than Fred and George were last year."  
  
"Yes," Lupin replied, "I know. Things have changed, though, and . well, I can't really explain very much over the telephone. Really, you never know what can be happening with these telephone taps you hear about these days."  
  
Harry barely contained a snort at the thought of the Death Eaters using telephone taps. It was highly unlikely, given their unwillingness to acknowledge the Muggle world except as a lower life-form, and it was more amusing than frightening to think of wizards using technology of the British secret service.  
  
Lupin seemed to pick up on his thoughts, and laughed warmly.  
  
"You never know," he said with what sounded like a verbal shrug. "At any rate, suffice it to say that you would find yourself contributing this summer, and if nothing else it should be interesting. You'll also be able to start your Occlumency lessons early; Professor Snape stops by quite frequently, and I'm sure Albus will be able to coerce him."  
  
Harry stifled a groan. Bonus lessons with Snape were more of a curse than a blessing, but he thought that after a month of practicing he might be able to hold his own. He forced a smile, hoping the expression would carry in his voice.  
  
"That's great," he replied. "My Aunt and Uncle will be thrilled to get rid of me, I'm sure. Um, just, is Hermione going to be coming?"  
  
There was a slight pause.  
  
"Under normal circumstances it wouldn't be advisable to bring her in," Lupin answered finally. "However, things are slightly different the way they are now. You need to be here, for your safety as much as anything, and with Ron here as well, I think it will be difficult to keep any secrets from Hermione." Amusement laced his voice. "Despite their soulful claims of innocence, I know the twins have ways of hearing things they're not supposed to hear, and of course that information will just happen to find its way to you kids."  
  
Harry chuckled. "How's their store going?" he asked.  
  
"I think you should probably ask them," Lupin replied. "They've been keeping it awfully secretive, even now."  
  
"I will," Harry agreed. "So, how exactly am I going to get there? Please not Floo, I beg you. Uncle Vernon nearly died when Mr. Weasley came the last time."  
  
"Don't worry, I'll come by myself by car, or send someone else, we'll see who's available. It will be perfectly respectable; we don't want to give them anything else to worry about. I'm sure they have very busy lives."  
  
"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Right."  
  
"Well," Lupin coughed in a dismissive kind of way. "I have things I have to do, Harry. I'm not certain when we'll be ready to have you, but I'll send a letter with your second school letter, all right? Either way, someone should come at the end of this week, either Saturday or Sunday."  
  
"Great," Harry said with genuine cheer.  
  
"Have a good week, then." There was a click and then the line went dead.  
  
Smiling, Harry put down the telephone receiver and hurried back up to his bedroom. Hedwig was sitting in her cage, and she stopped preening her feathers when he came in. As he closed the door she flapped her wings within the confines of the cage, and hooted softly. Harry smiled.  
  
"All right, Hedwig, you can come out soon." He slid an owl treat between the bars of her cage, and then opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a roll of parchment. Dipping his quill in ink, he began to write.  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
I don't know if you've heard - you probably have, but Professor Lupin invited us all to go and stay with him and Ron's family later on this month . I'm sure you know what I mean. I think they might have finally decided to tell us something; who knows. Anyway, I'm planning on going into Diagon Alley, maybe we could meet up there once I get my list? Write back with Hedwig, and let me know what your parents are planning on doing.  
  
~Harry  
  
He checked the letter over and decided that it was cryptic enough to be safe, on the off chance that someone intercepted it. In fact, he realised, he hadn't really said anything. He let Hedwig out of her cage and tied the roll of parchment to her leg. She hooted softly again and nibbled on his finger gently, then looked inquiringly at his window. Harry groaned.  
  
He went over to the window and pushed up on it tentatively, to no avail. Now more than ever he wished that he was in a wizarding household. He knew at least three spells that would open a window, but as it was he was stuck with his shoulder under the ledge, trying to shove the frame up without either breaking the glass or falling over his desk. Finally it shot upwards with a loud crack, leaving Harry sprawled across the desk with his head hanging out, looking onto the street. An elderly woman with a large hat that looked like a box waved cheerily at him as she walked by. Harry forced a weak grin and pulled himself in.  
  
Hedwig let out a soft trill that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and soared out into the clear blue sky.  
  
Harry walked away from his desk to the table beside his bed. A large black ball sat on it; a magic eight-ball, courtesy of Ron for his birthday. He picked it up idly, then looked at it again.  
  
"Will I die this year?" he asked it, raising one eyebrow. He shook the ball hard, and watched the swirling blue liquid inside. It settled and a piece of white paper, which reminded Harry startlingly of the slips that came from the Goblet of Fire two years ago, rose to the top of the glass surface. Slowly writing appeared, in the spidery hand that appeared to be the trademark of all semi-intelligent magical items.  
  
Stop being stupid.  
  
"Thanks," Harry muttered. "So that means that the answer is obvious?" The writing disappeared, to be replaced by another answer.  
  
Of course.  
  
Harry waited, but more answers did not seem to be forthcoming. He scowled. "And that answer would be?"  
  
If you can't figure it out for yourself, then why on earth should I tell  
you?  
  
"Because you're a magic eight ball, for goodness sakes," Harry exclaimed, tossing the irritating fortune teller onto the bed. "Personally," he added, feeling slightly silly for trying prove himself equal to a little glass ball, "I think you don't know the answer yourself." He looked at the ball from the corner of his eye.  
  
Don't be ridiculous. Of course I know.  
  
Harry snorted, and was turning away when he saw the message change once more.  
  
Still, prophecies can be tricky things.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The village of Little Hangleton was quiet. Although it wasn't late, most of the townspeople were at home, tucked up with books or listening to the radio as they prepared for bed. The night owls who did choose to stay up were gathered in The Hanged Man, where drinks and stories flew around with equal concentration.  
  
One man stayed out. He had long ago abandoned the comfort of the pub to keep his own company, and for the last month he had been walking the night, searching. He didn't know what he expected to find, and he was almost certain that he was a complete idiot for looking at all, but John Faulkner was different, in many ways.  
  
At the Hanged Man, if one wanted to find out about him, they would find the rooms filled with people eager to share their tales.  
  
"Oh, he's a strange one," a woman would titter, to the agreeing nods of her companions.  
  
"I could tell you stories," a man would add. "He's always running around at indecent hours, always carrying that walking staff of his, and that little stick, too. I hear tell that he used to work in a school in The Americas, but they kicked him out for whipping little children with that stick. He's a weird fellow, eh Dot?"  
  
"Ooh, very much so," Dot, the town gossiper, would happily reply. "He thinks very well of himself, too. You know, I've heard," Dot would pause for effect while the crowd around her would lean in conspiratorially. "I've heard him muttering, calling us all 'a bunch of muggles'. Hear tell that he and Frank Bryce were friends, too. Nah, it isn't respectable to be associating with him. Weird things happen ."  
  
So, it wasn't completely by his own choice that John stayed away from the main crowd in Little Hangleton. As the only wizard in the town, segregated for many years because of what he knew and what they didn't John had made the early decision to not get himself involved, living in isolation, except for the little mail he received, carried by post owls. It was by this means of communication that he had, just over a month ago, come to hear the suspicious rumour that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned.  
  
Immediately after that, dark clouds had begun to form over the town. John was not a naturally suspicious person, but when a village gets two and a half weeks of rain without stop, any fool can begin to realise that something isn't right. The Muggles had, of course, begun to investigate the unnatural weather patterns, but they could find no cause.  
  
John was less concerned about the weather than what he knew to be the cause. And so, every night he cast a quick Impervius spell over himself and headed out into the night. As he left the boundaries of the town he called a light to the tip of his wand. Today, like every other day, he saw no one. The wind whistled around the barren moor, skimming over rocks and rustling the grasses around him. He spent what felt like an hour wandering the deserted lands, searching for a sign that something was happening. Then, dejected, he returned home.  
  
The Riddle House stood deserted, as it had for the last three years when Frank Bryce was found dead. No one wanted to go near the cursed building, and for once that also included John. He had passed the building every night on his way home, after circling the town. This night, however, things were different. As he passed the old structure, he started in surprise.  
  
In one of the back corner windows, a light was on. John rubbed at his eyes quickly, unwilling to believe what he saw. However, the light stubbornly refused to go away. As his heart began to beat faster, he realised that this was what he had been looking for.  
  
A sensible man would have turned away, knowing what he was facing. However, something strange was in the air that night. Perhaps it was the fact that John had no friends, no special acquaintances to hold him to sense. Perhaps it was something more than that.  
  
Looking back on the events that followed, it is possible that if John Faulkner had turned away, had told the people of Little Hangleton what he knew, what the dangers were, perhaps things would have turned out differently. Then again, the village being what it was, it is more likely that they would have once again laughed him out of the pub. Regardless, John did not turn away from the Riddle House. He went instead around the house, creeping up on the side door and testing it quickly.  
  
It was locked. However, a simple opening charm was all that it took to cause it to swing open, inviting a visitor in. John entered, and was mildly surprised when it did not close behind him. He shut it himself, keeping the bolt off, and began to move through the halls in what he hoped was the direction of the light.  
  
He was lost within seconds. Cursing himself for his stupidity, John quickly gave up his search for the light and instead focussed on trying to find the exit, any exit. He soon found himself in the bowels of the house. Staircases would vanish the instant he climbed them, and corridors would end precisely where they began. Overcome with fear, Faulkner moved on blindly, until suddenly he was stopped by a new noise.  
  
It was so soft as to be almost unintelligible, but it was something. Instantly, that blinding curiosity that had gotten into so much trouble came over John once more. Ignoring his fear and the suffocating darkness of the house, he turned away from his search for the way out and began to follow the noise. It became clearer and clearer, until he was able to make out voices. Suddenly he rounded a corner and saw the light.  
  
A fire was flickering in a hearth, with an armchair positioned on one side and a chesterfield located on the other. From his position, Faulkner could only see one occupant in the room; a tall, sticklike man paced in a slow circle. John swallowed, as realisation overcame him. Quickly, before anyone could notice him, he slipped away from the door and ran into an adjacent corridor as the voices washed over him.  
  
"I am growing impatient." The voice was high and cold, devoid of all positive emotion.  
  
"I'm sorry, Master," a second voice answered quickly, servile. "They were told to come; they will be here, I am certain of it."  
  
"You have reason to be certain, Wormtail," the first man answered, cold amusement in his voice. "You well know that their failure will reflect on you, in your flesh."  
  
"Of . course, Master," Wormtail squeaked, sounding much like the rat Faulkner knew him to be. "They will be here any second now."  
  
"Indeed, it is good. I had hoped to have more time in this, in planning my return. Their failures have denied me the time I needed. Now time is one of the only things I do not have but - ah well, their mistakes have never been enough to defeat me. I am well used to their incompetence."  
  
"Yes, Master," Wormtail agreed.  
  
"If you have nothing to say, refrain from filling the air with your mindless blithering," cold man snapped sharply. "It is difficult enough to make my plans without your nonsense clouding my mind."  
  
Whatever else he may have said was cut off abruptly with a loud bang. Faulkner flinched as a third voice came into the conversation.  
  
"My Lord," the third man drawled. "You have my sincere apologies for my delay. I did not wish to keep you waiting, of course."  
  
"Of course," the Dark Lord agreed mildly. "What have you to report, Lucius?"  
  
"The spy is still secure, my Lord," Lucius Malfoy replied smoothly. "The first steps have been taken, and everything is moving perfectly. No one suspects, and no one will until it is far too late for them to correct the problem."  
  
"Perfect," the Dark Lord hissed. "Now, you have been given two tasks. What of the boy?"  
  
There was a pregnant pause.  
  
"My Lord," Lucius began quickly, "the boy is being . difficult."  
  
"Difficult." The flat statement sent shivers running through John's body.  
  
"Well, Master, it is simply that . he has a strong hatred for the boy, of course. It's just that . he has not taken the fall of the High Inquisitor well. He . is questioning your - your strength."  
  
There was another pause. Then the cold voice spoke again.  
  
"Indeed. That is unfortunate for you. Crucio."  
  
The halls were instantly filled with screams of agony.  
  
"Wait . my Lord," Lucius cried out. "Please, let me explain, Master!"  
  
A cold chuckle. "Well then, Lucius, explain. Don't waste my time with your screaming; I hear enough of it as it is."  
  
There was a moment of stillness, broken by anguished moans and the sound of heavy breathing. When Lucius next spoke, his words were broken from pain.  
  
"My Lord, I p-promise you that Draco will be at your side, just as I h-have always been. It is s-simply that he is young. H-he did not take well to his f-fall from power, but I will have him w-with you by the time the next year begins. Y-you have my word." He fell silent, gasping for breath.  
  
"Indeed, Lucius," the Dark Lord agreed coldly. "You must know, of course, that it matters little to me precisely what happens regarding your son. He is only one of the many tools I have set out to use. If he does not come willingly he will not come at all, and you must know that he cannot be responsible for these choices. As you say, he is young. No, Lucius." The voice turned strangely melodic, alluring. "If Draco chooses against me, he will not suffer. The weight of my displeasure will fall onto you. Now." There were sounds of abrupt movement. "I gave you two duties. The progress of your first task shall be monitored. I hope that you fared better with the second?"  
  
"Thank you, Master," Lucius said immediately. Faulkner heard the sounds of cloth swishing as he rose from the ground, robes making gentle noises against each other as they were settled into place. He cleared his throat once, and began to speak.  
  
"I have seen the Dementors, my Lord," he began, voice still shaky with the aftershocks of pain. "Their Shadow Master does send his support, and allowed me to leave with my Soul intact as a proof of his lack of animosity."  
  
"You are hiding things from me, Lucius," the Dark Lord said warningly. "It is not a good way to begin your second chance."  
  
"Of course not, my Lord. I was only getting to the end. The Dementors have been mistreated under the ministry in the last decade. They view what we have to offer in a positive light, but are mistrustful of wizards who come bearing promises. They were human once, and some of the newly turned can remember human greed and treachery. I would not presume to offer a suggestion in this matter," he added hastily.  
  
"Of course not." The Dark Lord's voice was bland.  
  
"However, as I am sure you have already realised, it may take more effort to win their trust. They followed Umbrage for us, of course, however I think it will take more than her to form an Army, and Dolores is currently . out of commission. I spoke with our contact in St. Mugos, and he told me that he finds her chances of recovery to be positive."  
  
"Umbrage was a useful woman, a proud member of our ranks. However she too is also a tool. I have many others that can do her job, and none will be needed to encourage the Shadow Master. What of the equilines?"  
  
Again Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat, as if searching his mind for the proper sheaf of information before beginning.  
  
"The Bicorn Mare and Chichevache Stallion have raced far from here," he said smoothly. "The Shadow Master of the Dementors stays in communication with all Dark creatures, naturally, however I have yet to see the equiline representatives myself. Even so, the Shadow Master has sent word to you from them. The Bicorn and Chichevache tribes will send steeds to surpass anything the Unicorns could do. As for the Thestrals, they remain neutral as they always have, but I'm certain that they will join us when we need them. They are Dark creatures, whatever the Hogwarts Giant has done to tame them. They still look forward to the feast."  
  
"What a feast it will be," the Dark Lord agreed. "Is that all?"  
  
"Yes, my Lord."  
  
"Then I think you have issues that may become pressing. I suggest you tend to them immediately. Keep the contact informed, make sure that they will be able to infiltrate without a problem."  
  
"There will be no problems, my Lord."  
  
"Of course not. I did not take you out of the Wizard's prison to have you fail." With that, a loud crack echoed through the halls of the Riddle House. Voldemort began to laugh softly.  
  
Faulkner never knew which noise it was that made him act. Driven by a sudden curiosity, he cast a Disillusionment charm over himself and crept closer to the door. The room was dimly lit, with the fire flickering warmly. A stout, balding man who perched on the very edge of his seat, fidgeting horribly, occupied the chair nearest to the door. The other was empty. Off to one side, almost wrapped in shadows, stood the other man. He turned slowly, and John caught a glimmer of red as the firelight caught his eyes.  
  
"What do you think," Lord Voldemort asked in a soft voice. Faulkner froze, then breathed again as a voice answered.  
  
"He is a fool." The voice was female. The owner of the voice slowly seemed to materialize from the shadows. She was followed swiftly by four other cloaked shapes.  
  
"We have followed him into disaster for the last time," a male voice agreed.  
  
"Be patient, my pets," Voldemort interjected, raising one finger in warning. "He has another chance to prove himself. Need I remind you that you yourselves are here only because of my unending generosity? I could easily have killed you for what you allowed to happen last year."  
  
"But he sees you only for your power," the woman exclaimed as the men hung their heads and murmured soft apologies and pleas.  
  
"Bella!" Voldemort's voice was hard. "Do not be so quick to judge others whom you cannot know . I am neither bind nor stupid, not even when it comes to you yourself. You may wish for my mercy someday."  
  
Bellatrix Lestrange dropped her head. "Yes, Master," she replied softly.  
  
"She makes a point, though, my Lord," another man stated meekly. "If Lucius becomes overconfident and too sure of himself, he could cause damage to our plans."  
  
"That is impossible," the Dark Lord disagreed. "I have been aware of Lucius for some time now, if my faithful servants have not." Special emphasis was placed on the word 'faithful'; the circle of Death Eaters shivered slightly. "No," Voldemort continued reflectively, "no, Lucius amuses me, I will not deny it. And he has competence enough to deal with issues now. I will give him a fair test, to show him my mercy."  
  
"My Lord," Bellatrix spoke up again. "Lucius has escaped Azkaban, yes, but his reputation has been slandered, as have all of ours. How can we expect him to continue his former existence in our world? He will be rated worse than the Dog was."  
  
"In normal situations you would be correct. However, Lucius is skilled when it comes to interacting with others. He has Fudge completely under control, and that means that I have him under my control. People will question, of course, but Lucius has the advantage of a rather large fortune. When I allowed him to remain where he was I ensured that there would be no problems. Now, what of the prophecy?"  
  
A third man stepped forwards slightly, bowing. "The fool Dumbledore is now the only one in possession of it," he said, voice rough with anger. "The Potter boy is certain to have heard the beginning, and you are in possession of the end. It seems that we are at an impasse."  
  
"Do not underestimate Albus Dumbledore," Voldemort warned in a low voice. "I would not place any faith in his oblivion. We will triumph only when we are in possession of the prophecy in its entirety. Only then will I be able to achieve what I have been working for."  
  
"And what is that, my Lord?" the last man asked eagerly. The light glowed red in the Dark Lord's eyes as he turned to face the final speaker.  
  
"You presume too much, Dolohov." He said coldly. He looked at the other Death Eaters. "His death will not be honoured, even among our ranks. He is not worthy of the Circle. Avada Kedavra." The figure crumpled to the ground in a flash of green light. Instantly, John's heard leapt to his throat. Voldemort continued to speak.  
  
"There is another here who has made a fatal mistake tonight," he said in the same toneless voice. "He believes that I will not be able to spot him for who he truly is. I believe he even suspected that I would have forgotten him by now." He slowly pitched his voice to carry. "However, this man was incorrect. I have forgotten nothing, certainly not him, and I cannot be fooled by a simple charm. You will regret standing against me, John Faulkner."  
  
He was dead before the words could register, eyes still open with confused shock. Voldemort laughed softly.  
  
"It appears that we have begun, my pets," he said, something resembling glee creeping into his voice. "Thanks to the efforts of Albus Dumbledore, the world now knows that I have returned. It would be an injustice to keep them in suspense any longer. Come, my pets. Let us once more show the world the meaning of fear."  
  
In a silent stream the Death Eaters left the Riddle House. They split up, quartering the town with almost military precision and with the same efficiency the buildings, the cottages and stores, began to crumble. The moon was beginning to fade before the screams stopped echoing around the ruined structures. Then, as the sun began to rise, a green mist began to pour out of all of the dwellings. It drifted up, gathering over the ruin of Little Hangleton, and began to take shape. Soon a glowing green skull hung in the air, a ghostly tongue flickering in the wind. Whether through fate or magic, twin stars glittered in the empty sockets like eyes. The Dark Mark had claimed another victim.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The Order of the Phoenix had met once more. The purpose of the meeting had been to yet again decide what to do about Harry Potter, and Albus had to privately admit that he was rather pleased with the decision. Propriety aside, he had spent quite a bit of time watching Harry as he grew, both in and out of Hogwarts. He was an intelligent boy, when he saw reason to be. He was also fiercely loyal, proud, and strong; the perfect Gryffindor. Albus felt something pull inside of him, but smothered it before it could form itself into a feeling. He knew what it would become, if he let it, and he knew that he didn't have time for it at the moment.  
  
His thoughts mirroring his actions, he felt himself spin through the Floo Network to appear in his own fireplace, and only years of instinctive training kept him from tumbling unceremoniously onto the carpet. As it was, he stumbled slightly before righting himself to look around his empty office.  
  
By giving Harry responsibility they were giving him a chance to become more than The Boy Who Lived, and Albus suspected that this would help him to move beyond the anger and the darkness that seemed to be consuming him.  
  
The dark was consuming more than just Harry, though, and that was troubling. Voldemort had not shown his face since Albus had won the battle at the Ministry of Magic, but behind everything he still maintained his shadow, sending it creeping out slowly, inch by inch. People didn't see what was happening, but that was to be expected. Tom always had been a subtle creature. Despite proclamations to the contrary, he still managed to have the majority of the Wizarding world convinced that his reappearance was a figment of the imagination. Even the Ministry of Magic wasn't able to persuade everyone.  
  
Looking down at his desk Albus sighed. It was covered with trinkets and trivialities, all of them seeming vastly unimportant in the light of recent events. However, truth of the matter was that Lord Voldemort had done nothing in the last months, and so there was nothing Albus could do in return. And, he had a school to consider. Parents had special considerations that he as Headmaster had to address individually, and among other things, Argus Filch had requested that he consider a special revision of the Code for Regulations and Punishments that Albus suspected had something to do with thumbscrews. The man was highly skilled, but many of his ideas fell slightly behind the times.  
  
Beside the piles of parchment, a single scroll was placed with a certain reverence. A rare text, it was something that he had been looking forward to examining. He touched the ribbon holding it closed, brow furrowing in thought. He would have little time to read it later in August, when the staff became overburdened with preparing for the next year. They would be coming to the castle within the next few weeks, although Irma was insistent even now on making periodic stops to re-classify the library. Perhaps a few moments of decent reading would help to clear his head.  
  
Taking the scroll up from his desk, Albus made his way over to the nearest window. He opened the shudders and let the summer air wash over him, the evening's bite still clinging to the wind despite the traces of colour beginning to stain the Eastern horizon - great Merlin, had he truly been away that long? Albus shook his head wryly and set his spectacles more firmly onto his nose.  
  
Suddenly his breathing faltered. He inhaled sharply through his nose and blinked twice to make certain that he wasn't imagining things. The wind carried a faint scent; spicy and bitter, like cinnamon and burnt almonds. The sound of the breeze against the stone of the castle was like a low moan, helpless and forlorn. And, barely perceptible in the pre-dawn light, a faint green glow shone on the horizon.  
  
With deliberated movements Albus set the scroll down on a convenient bookshelf. He extended one hand back towards his desk and beckoned with two fingers. His wand rose from the desk and floated across the span to land unerringly in his extended hand.  
  
"Mactus locus," Albus whispered, pointing his wand directly at the glowing green smudge. There was a whistle of wind, and a faint mist poured out of the end of his wand. Slowly, magnified on the floating silvery field, the area of sky began to come into focus.  
  
There, grinning at him with a soulless glee, hung a green skull balancing, it seemed, on the sun's first rays. Two morning stars shone like eyes, winking at him as the serpentine tongue swayed back and forth.  
  
He turned away from the window in a swirl of midnight blue robes. Anger welled up and battled with other emotions before he locked it away. Righteous fury was a powerful tool that could be directed - he was, after all, a Gryffindor, and knew to appreciate virtuous wrath. However, now was not the time, nor the place. With forced deliberation Albus returned to his desk and banished the papers and notes with a sweep of his wand. They soared around his office in a flutter of chaos for a moment before settling in their proper places. A flick of his wrist summoned a roll of maps. Swallowing hard, he sat down.  
  
"Winky," he called softly. There was a faint popping noise, and a small brown head appeared from behind one of the bookshelves.  
  
"Master Dumbledore called, sir?"  
  
Despite everything, Albus smiled at the House Elf.  
  
"Yes. Winky, would you be so kind as to find Professor McGonagall for me? I need to speak with her as soon as possible."  
  
The small creature nodded. Her eyes flicked up and over Albus's shoulder for a moment to rest on the silver screen suspended in the window and her large eyes bulged even more. She blinked, nodded again quickly, and vanished behind the book shelf. Albus looked back at his desk.  
  
Before he could open the maps, a soft trill filled the room. Albus looked up as Fawkes soared off of his perch and came to rest on the back of the chair that faced the desk. The beautiful bird cocked its head and stared at him, and the Headmaster returned the look with the same gravity. Then he sighed and straightened his shoulders, reaching for a map. There was no time left in the world for an old man with a bit too much weight resting on his shoulders.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Albus Dumbledore had just left them, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix were starting to drift apart, wandering to separate corners of the house in search of peace and quiet. Determined to break the trend, Fred and George Weasley had vanished into some unknown room, and smells of sulphur and smoke were now drifting through number twelve, Grimmauld place.  
  
Sensing the break-up of the meeting, Ron put down the Quidditch book he had been skimming through and opened the door to his room. From the hallway he could see some of the remaining members. They were gathered in the front hallway, examining the cloth that covered the portrait of Mrs. Black. He couldn't pick up the voices, but he could see the expressions on their faces.  
  
One man in particular seemed to be rather displeased. Severus Snape's face was distorted with disgust, and he poked at the edge of the tapestry with his wand. Instantly, the front hallway erupted in noise that even Ron could hear. Bill and Charley Weasley both moved towards him, wands waving. On the other side of the room, Tonks, who had wisely chosen to stay away from the painting for fear of doing damage, rushed forwards. Trails of sound floated upwards.  
  
" You idiot! Are you trying to provoke her?"  
  
"Stop it!"  
  
"Snape, don't wake her up, we've been keeping her blessedly quiet for weeks."  
  
"If you must all act like anxious birds I will take my leave of you," Snape's cold voice snapped. Then, his voice dropped again and Ron lost the conversation.  
  
Burned, he thought. No one could escape Snape's wrath, although he thought that if his Mother had been there she would have stood a decent chance. Rather than passing through the front hall, Ron avoided the main stairs and headed down the hallway. The door at the end led to another flight of stairs, which he took down into the Living Room.  
  
He laughed slightly, being allowed into this room for the first time in weeks. Or, rather, not allowed, per say, just not stopped. He looked over at the couch, and debated sitting on it, before giving up on the idea. With another look around the room, he turned to leave.  
  
Just then, the fire turned green. Ron dropped his book, startled, and hurried over to the hearth as a face appeared in the flames.  
  
"Is your father around?" Cornelius Fudge asked. Ron gulped.  
  
"Um ." he swallowed. "Yeah, he should be . I'll go and find him."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Fortunately enough, because Grimmauld Place was a large house, Arthur Weasley hadn't gone far. Ron found him sitting in the kitchen with Kingsley Shacklebolt, discussing the implication of new policies within the Ministry of Magic, and how this would affect the Aurors working there. Both looked up when he entered.  
  
"Ron," he smiled. "What is it?"  
  
"The Minister for Magic is . in the fire," Ron relayed. A flash of irritation crossed over his father's face.  
  
"Do you know what he wants?" he asked, already setting down his drink and beginning to rise.  
  
"No," Ron answered. "He just asked if you were around. He sounded kind of pissed off, though."  
  
A grunt came from across the room.  
  
"Watch your language," Molly Weasley exclaimed, spinning around and wielding her spoon like a weapon. Even now, she appeared to be cooking something. Ron went over to investigate.  
  
"Sorry, Mum," he said quickly. He poked a finger in one of the pots that were simmering on top of the stove and tasted the mixture. "Apple tart?"  
  
"Not now," Molly hustled him across the room with her spoon. "It was supposed to be a treat. And Arthur," she turned to her husband. "You should go and see what Cornelius wants. He isn't a very patient man, you know."  
  
"Oh, I know, I know." Arthur cast an apologetic glance at Kingsley, who nodded knowingly, and left the kitchen. Ron started to follow, but stopped at the look from his Mother.  
  
"I wasn't going to do anything," he protested, hands up. "But I have to leave the kitchen somehow, don't I?" Molly scowled at him and made a shooing motion with her spoon.  
  
The door to the living room was closed by the time Ron got to it; again. He sighed and made his way back upstairs In his room the Quidditch book was lying on his bed, and he picked it up. Suddenly, the silence was broken by two pops.  
  
Fred and George stood side by side, wearing identical grins. George held out a hand, and with it a small piece of what looked like plastic.  
  
"Need an Ear?" he asked. Ron frowned.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
Fred grinned.  
  
"Extendible Ears, second run." He held out another bit of plastic and Ron took it. Faintly flesh coloured, it looked the same as the other Extendible Ears, save for a lack of cord coming from the end. "We thought it was a bit too obvious if there were little strings running around the house," George explained. "So, we charmed them. Now we just set up receivers around the house, and the ear-pieces can pick up sound from any of them. Take a look."  
  
He took yet another ear-piece from inside his robes. Tapping it with his wand, he said,  
  
"Living Room."  
  
Suddenly, the room was filled with sound.  
  
". completely without warning." It was Fudge's voice.  
  
"What are you saying?" Arthur asked, in a slightly panicked tone.  
  
"It's just gone, is what I'm saying. Nothing's been left standing . nothing at all. Just rubble and that blasted mark hanging over it all."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"Sir," Arthur spoke at last. "Little Hangleton was where it all began. That . that means it's finally happening, then?"  
  
"Indeed," Fudge answered. "We have had no warning, completely out of the blue. We'll have to do what we can now. Can you get to the office immediately?"  
  
"Of course. But, sir," Arthur hesitated. "I'm in charge of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts . why do you need me?"  
  
"I don't," came the flat reply. Then, "But, you never know, really. If You- Know-Who starts using handguns . well, you never know. I do not apologise," Fudge said gruffly.  
  
"Of course not, Sir," Arthur answered. "I'll be there as soon as I can."  
  
"Oh, and Arthur?"  
  
"Yes, Minister?"  
  
"Let's try and keep this private, eh? You can tell Molly, of course, and no doubt your little . group . will hear about it, but don't tell the children. An epidemic of panic running around Hogwarts is the last thing I need . I can deal with Dumbledore later."  
  
"Of course, Sir. I'll be right there."  
  
"Finis."  
  
The three boys stood for a moment, looking at each other.  
  
"Completely without warning?" Fred asked, looking incredulous. "They've had plenty of warning . the entire thing last year was at the Ministry of bloody Magic, for Merlin's sake. He gave a report to the Daily Profit and everything!"  
  
"Yeah," Ron answered, "but he has a selective memory, doesn't he. I've never heard him bring it up again, and it'd certainly suit his purposes to pretend that it was just a memory lapse or something." He said the last words with disgust.  
  
"Well, he can't deny this," George said finally. "No one except You-Know- Who could have taken out an entire village, there's no other explanation."  
  
"Why doesn't that encourage me?" Fred asked. Not sure whether or not it was rhetorical, the other two shrugged. Ron looked around for an excuse to change the subject.  
  
"Can anyone find the receiver for the Extendible Ears?" he asked. Both of the twins shook their heads.  
  
"Not unless they can crack the chain of invisibility spells on it," George explained, "and even then, it's hidden behind the bookshelf."  
  
"Took us hours to get it in place," Fred added. "Everyone went out to the Ministry one day, we got them all set up before they got back."  
  
"Where have you got the receivers?" Ron asked, curious despite himself. Fred and George exchanged a glance, then shrugged in attempts at modesty.  
  
"Oh, here and there," Fred answered.  
  
"Everywhere people say interesting things," George added helpfully. "We listen in on all of the Order meetings, and some other stuff, you never know when people are going to say things that they don't want you to hear."  
  
"But," Ron frowned, confused. "You're in the order meetings, why do you need to listen in on them?"  
  
"Yeah, we thought of that," George agreed.  
  
"But," Fred shrugged. "Never hurts to be prepared."  
  
"Right." Ron took the ear-piece from his ear and held it out to the twins. Fred shook his head and pushed it back to him.  
  
"Its on us," he said cheerily. "Of course, you'll have to buy the receivers if you want to put them anywhere we don't have one, or if you want to use them at Hogwarts, or anything."  
  
"Two Sickles per receiver," George added helpfully.  
  
"Erm, thanks." Ron put the ear-piece in the pocket of his robes. The twins also disposed of theirs, and then sat down uninvited on his bed. They sat for a moment, looking at each other, eyes twinkling. Then, identical expressions of glee spread across their faces.  
  
"There's really no reason for us not to know any of this," Fred commented thoughtfully.  
  
"None at all," George agreed. "After all, we are of age, and we are members of the Order, when it comes down to it. They'll tell us in the end."  
  
"And we will be properly shocked and horrified."  
  
"Of course. Now you," he turned to Ron. "You, poor little Sixth Year, you're not supposed to know about it at all. Wouldn't want something horrible running rampant around Hogwarts."  
  
Ron scowled. "Oh, come on," he exclaimed.  
  
"So," Fred continued, "as older and wiser members of the family," - Ron coughed and rolled his eyes. Fred glared. "As older and wiser members of the family," he repeated, "we must counsel you in this matter."  
  
"Now you must be careful, Ron," George said in a serious tone, "to keep this knowledge secret from all adults other than us. When you tell other people, make sure to tell them in an adult-free zone."  
  
"You are in a perilous position, younger brother." Fred picked up the talk. "Illegal knowledge can be a heavy burden to bear. Tread softly and carefully, and no harm shall befall you."  
  
"Oh, please." Ron held up his hands. "You're making it sound like this is some secret club, or something. I've got to tell Hermione now."  
  
"Go with caution!" Fred called out, before the two of them burst out in fits of laughter.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"It's not here."  
  
"I'm telling you, it has to be. I saw it there yesterday morning."  
  
Hermione looked through the cupboard again, then turned away. "That's great," she called down the stair, "except that it's not here."  
  
There was an irritated pause, and a woman appeared at the foot of the staircase. She leaned on the banister, crossing her arms.  
  
"Well then where has it gone?" she demanded in a pleading tone. "It isn't exactly like a lamp can wander off, now can it?"  
  
Hermione decided not to point out the possibilities. In a Muggle household, it was unlikely, anyway. Instead she closed the cupboard and went to face her mother.  
  
"You haven't looked at that lamp in years," she pointed out. "Why do you need it now?"  
  
Jenny Granger spread her hands.  
  
"Your father has gone on one of his kicks," she said wryly. "Wants to fix everything he can lay his hands on, starting with that lamp." She paused, and continued in a conspiratorial tone, "I think it's best if I just let him get it out of his system."  
  
"Can he start on something else?" Hermione asked. "Why that lamp?"  
  
"Well, if the lamp's gone, he'll have to, won't he?" Mrs. Granger pointed out. "He'll just have to make do with that lawn gnome."  
  
Hermione shuddered.  
  
"All right," Mrs. Granger sighed, turning away. "If you see it, let me know, will you?" In the distance from the other side of the house, the telephone began to ring.  
  
"Of course," Hermione replied. She was about to return to her room when a thought struck her. "Are you sure Dad didn't get it this morning while you were out?" she asked.  
  
Her mother frowned, considering. "You know," she said reflectively, "he just might have. Thanks. Oh, and would you get the phone?"  
  
"Sure." Hermione raced across the hallway to pick up the receiver. "Hello?"  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
"Ron?" Hermione laughed and sat down in an armchair by the phone. "You're calling me? What's going on? How have you been?"  
  
"Great," Ron replied, "you know, all things considered. Snape was here just now, I've been hiding in my room."  
  
"Which is why you're calling me?" Hermione frowned sceptically. Ron seemed to hear it in her voice; he coughed awkwardly.  
  
"Well, no, not exactly. And, I'm not really supposed to be telling you this at all . I'm not supposed to know, but I couldn't just keep it a secret."  
  
"Ron?" Hermione cut in. "What on earth are you going on?"  
  
"You-know-who is back," Ron answered shortly. Hermione frowned.  
  
"Um, I don't quite know how to tell you this, Ron, but he was back a while ago. You were there, at the Ministry when he tried to kill all of us. It's not nice, but it's nothing new, exactly."  
  
"No, no." There was impatience in Ron's voice now, and Hermione tried to understand it. "That's not what I mean, 'Mione. I mean, you know how he went kind of into hiding for a while at the beginning of the summer? How there's been no news of him at all?"  
  
Hermione made some noise of agreement, as the pieces began to come together.  
  
"Well, we've got news of him now. He blew up Little Hangleton."  
  
"Blew up?" Hermione repeated. "What do you mean, blew up?"  
  
"Well, I wasn't exactly there, or anything, but from what I heard it's just kind of been demolished. Like, no buildings still standing, no one's alive, everything just . blown up, like I said. Total destruction, from what Fudge was saying."  
  
"You were talking to Fudge?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.  
  
"No, I just . overheard what they were saying, that's all."  
  
"Right. And why exactly are you calling me?"  
  
There was another pause on the other end of the line. Finally Ron made a non-committal noise somewhere between a grunt and a squeak.  
  
"I figured I had to tell someone, and I was going to tell Harry, but then, I didn't."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"You want me to call there?" Ron exclaimed with surprising emotion. "I can't do that, 'Mione. You've never tried . his relatives are monsters. They don't let me talk to him half the time, if I get that cousin, and Harry says that they always listen to his end, anyway."  
  
"You could have owled him," Hermione pointed out.  
  
"No I couldn't," he replied. "Mum and Dad can get at letters that get sent out, and it's not like I think they're reading all of my mail, or anything, but I'm not supposed to know that anything's going on; I don't send out many owls, if I send Pig out now they'll get suspicious. And, you don't have Moody in your house for dinner, staring at you with that eye. He can see into souls, I swear."  
  
Hermione laughed. "I don't think that's very likely," she scoffed. "But, I'll owl him about it if you want me to."  
  
"Thanks." Suddenly, Ron's voice brightened. "Oh, Hermione, did you get that letter from Professor Lupin?"  
  
"Yes," she answered. "And Harry told me about it, too. I can't wait to come; do you know when they want us to get there?"  
  
"No, people still aren't really talking to me, much. But, it's great that you'll be staying over here, I've been bored out of my mind for the last few weeks. Even if they don't tell us anything, again, it'll be better than just sitting here doing nothing."  
  
"Yeah," Hermione agreed. "I've been helping my parents around the house, but nothing really interesting. It'll be nice to be in a wizarding household again. I'm worried that I'm going to forget all of my spells."  
  
"You can't do magic, though, 'Mione," Ron protested.  
  
"I know, I know, but you hear spells around the house, and you can watch . you can learn so much without actually doing anything."  
  
"You're sounding like Umbrage."  
  
"Merlin, no!" Hermione exclaimed. "Just for that, I'm not talking to you any more. I'll see you in a few days, I guess."  
  
"All right," Ron laughed. "Owl Harry for me."  
  
"Of course."  
  
Grinning, Hermione put down the phone and went off in search of a quill and parchment.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The response to his letter came within a few days, along with a small Hogwarts Post-Owl bearing two envelopes. Hedwig generously allowed the smaller bird too share her cage for a few hours, and Harry gave it an Owl Treat before it flew away again.  
  
The letter Hedwig brought came from Hermione. It was brief, saying that she'd love to meet him at Diagon Alley, and that in fact it was probably best that they did, because she had some things to talk to him about. She would be going to get her supplies in two days, she said, if they could meet. Harry suspected he already knew what those things were, but decided that it was definitely worth seeing Hermione, even if he had to go over his dreams again.  
  
He was going to wait before sending a reply, but Hedwig was shifting around in her cage impatiently, so he scratched out something about meeting her at Fortiscue's mid-afternoon on Thursday and sent Hedwig off once more.  
  
The other two letters both came in official looking envelopes. One, bearing the Hogwarts Crest and written in shimmering green ink, told him that his proposed courses had been accepted, and that he was in fact taking the classes he wanted to take. Harry was mildly relieved. There was also the standard list of supplies that he would need, with the courses he was taking marked with golden stars. Harry stowed the letter in his trunk and opened the other one.  
  
It was sealed with a crest that he didn't recognize; a stylized bird flew between two trees, with flames for leaves. He peeled off the wax and took out the letter. There was nothing special about the letter, except that Harry quickly recognized the handwriting.  
  
Dear Harry,  
  
I'm sure you've heard something about what's going on now. All things considered, we all think that it's for the for the best that you come here as quickly as possible. We don't expect any immediate danger, but even so you'll be safer here, even with Dumbledore's protection.  
  
There are still things that need to be done around here before you and Hermione can come, but you can expect someone to come by and pick you up, probably me, mid-day on Sunday. If anything changes, I'll let you know by Owl, or when you next call.  
  
Again, I don't want to say too much, in case the owl carrying this somehow gets intercepted, but don't worry; we'll explain everything that we can when you come. Until then, have a wonderful holiday. If you can find the time, it would be better for you to get your supplies before you get here, but otherwise I'm sure that we can arrange a trip later on.  
  
Love from us all,  
  
Remus Lupin  
  
Harry read the letter twice. Lupin hadn't sounded as cheerful as he had by telephone, and Harry had dreamed nothing to indicate any changes on Voldemort's part, so he didn't quite understand the reference to no 'immediate danger', but the cryptic ending indicated that there were things going on that he was unaware of, and that was still rather exciting. He debated whether or not he needed to reply to this letter, but Hedwig had just left, and the Hogwarts Owl was gone as well. Harry reasoned that if he was supposed to send anything back it would have been told to stay, so instead he folded the letter neatly in the envelope and then it, too, joined the collection of items at the bottom of his trunk.  
  
That done, he sat back down on his bed and picked up the discarded book, a birthday present from Hermione, naturally. A strange magical novel of sorts, it was spelled so that Harry would always open it to the right page, and whenever he got bored of the story he was reading it would change to something else completely. It hadn't yet turned into a Quidditch text, but Harry was still hopeful. That combined with the fact that he would be going to Diagon Alley in two days and Number Twelve, Grimmauld place in five days made life look a lot better as he lay down and began to read.  
  
~*~*~*~ 


	2. multi consilii

Many Meetings  
  
multi consilii  
  
Harry,  
  
I sincerely hope that you have had a pleasant summer, although I know that that may not be possible, under the circumstances. Believe me when I say that it is truly in your best interest, as I think you now know, and I have been told that you will be spending the remaining time with the Order of the Phoenix. I look forward to seeing you there. I regret that I cannot send you a letter simply for the pleasure of it, but business does seem to monopolize our lives nowadays; so, to the point, then.  
  
You have, no doubt, been dreaming quite a bit lately, despite the attempts you make at Occulmency. I would advise you to take whatever steps you can to record these dreams; you may be able to provide invaluable knowledge. I would also tell you to be extremely careful. You know that your dreams can act as a double-edged sword, and we do not want Voldemort to do again what he did last year. I hope that you have continued to practice what Professor Snape instructed you to do last year; it becomes more urgent now than it was before, and I will explain more of this when we meet in person.  
  
I have, of course, seen your selection of courses for the next year. Your request for a make-up examination in Potions has been approved, and you will take the exam on the first day back, at eleven o'clock in the morning. You have my best wishes in your chosen path. I have utmost faith in you, and no doubt that you will succeed. However, this reinforces the need for you to conquer your emotions and your mind. It will not be easy.  
  
Enjoy your summer, and I will see you soon,  
  
Yours,  
  
Albus Dumbledore  
  
Harry folded the letter and put it beneath the floorboard under his bed. The Headmaster had sent him one other letter that summer, filled with cheerful words and less than cheerful messages. Harry found them somewhat reassuring; coming from Professor Dumbledore, the unnatural cheer was completely normal, and he felt like he was being trusted with something. It was that, more than anything else, that kept him trying to work on his tasks for Occulmency, and he had actually been able to master the clearing of his mind.  
  
Dumbledore was right, of course, about his dreams. When he returned to Hogwarts, Harry had planned to talk to Hermione about some sort of charm to record them while he slept; as it was, he wrote down what he could remember, which was getting clearer and more organized as time progressed. The small notebook was hidden at the bottom of his trunk, along with his more valuable wizarding possessions; his cloak and wand, as well as other trinkets.  
  
The idea of seeing the Headmaster again was an encouraging one, as was the fact that today he would get to see Hermione again. Which did take him to an interesting problem; how to get out of the house. Having only recently turned sixteen - Harry thought fondly to his store of sweets, still hidden beneath his bed - he wasn't able to Apparate, or to drive a car and even if he could, he suspected that his Uncle would rather die than give him freedom of mobility. This meant that the only way he could get to Diagon Alley was if he was driven. Therein lay the problem.  
  
He went over and took the magic eight-ball from his bedside table and shook it, watching as the slip of parchment floated up to the glass surface. Words appeared quickly in shining violet ink.  
  
It is conventional to actually ask a question, you know.  
  
Harry glared at the trinket, once again feeling a strange and irrational need to prove himself. He shook his head, both amused and ashamed with himself.  
  
"What do I say to get Uncle Vernon to take me to Diagon Alley?" There was a pause for a moment, and it seemed like the magical sphere was considering what to say. Probably trying to come up with the most malicious and horrible insult it could, Harry thought spitefully. And indeed, there was a distinctly malicious twist to the writing when it next appeared.  
  
Do you even know how to get into Diagon Alley?  
  
"Of course I do," Harry answered. "The Leakey Cauldron, tap the bricks in the back yard, or else ." he frowned, trying to remember something that he had overheard Bill telling his mother last summer. "Or else, the Eastern Bank of Commerce, locker number seventy-one. A simple opening charm."  
  
And you plan to do this how, exactly, without using magic?  
  
Harry bit his lip. He hadn't thought about that.  
  
I thought so.  
  
The invisible writer seemed very smug. Harry found himself wondering why he was even bothering to consult it, and vowed that after his question was answered he would lock the annoying billiard-ball away at the bottom of his trunk, with the Sneakoscope. When he looked down again, the writing had changed.  
  
Have some decent advice, instead of an answer to a stupid question.  
  
"Yeah?" Harry looked at it sceptically. This time the paper seemed to wrap around the screen as the eight-ball gave a longer answer than it usually did. Harry read rapidly to keep up.  
  
Tap the lock three times with your wand. It's not considered magic without  
a spell, but it will trigger the magic in the door.  
  
Harry felt a grudging kind of gratitude start to creep up on him. He pushed it aside.  
  
"So no help with the family issue, then."  
  
The reply seemed to have a sense of finality latent in it.  
  
I'm not a family counsellor; solve your own issue with the pruny git.  
  
"Fine, then," Harry muttered. However, he left the ball on his bedside table instead of hiding it in his trunk. The advice had been good, after all. Maybe it deserved a second chance, if magical items were worthy of them.  
  
Which still didn't answer the question of how to coerce his relatives into giving him a ride to the Eastern Bank of Commerce. Following the events of the previous summer, the Dursleys were now fully aware of the fact that he could not perform even a single act of magic, and although they were indeed intimidated by Alastor Moody and the other Order members, he didn't know how far that fear would take him. Still, he had to go, which left him with only one real choice; he'd go down and hope he could talk his way through it.  
  
The Dursleys were, rather predictably, gathered around the kitchen table. Aunt Petunia was sitting with an adoring look on her face, watching as Dudley worked steadily at eating what looked like an entire pound cake. Uncle Vernon was reading his newspaper, looking immensely pleased with himself.  
  
"We've gone up three points," he said cheerily, opening the paper to show Aunt Petunia the newest information in the business section. "Overtaking that idiot Weston by a landslide. A landslide, boy, see? This is what you're inheriting."  
  
Dudley grunted, intent on stuffing more food into his mouth. All attempts at a diet had been completely abolished when Dudley had won his school's wrestling championship, and had advanced into a citywide competition. Now he had to 'build up his strength', as Aunt Petunia kept saying.  
  
Harry coughed. The Dursleys looked up, startled, and stared at him as if he were a mangy and unwanted animal who had wandered into the pristine world that was the kitchen.  
  
"What do you want, boy?" Uncle Vernon asked suspiciously. "Shouldn't you be up in your bedroom?"  
  
"Well, um, you see," Harry frowned, trying to figure out how to put this best, "I kind of have to go into Diagon Alley today. I need to get my supplies, and, well, yeah."  
  
Uncle Vernon eyed him suspiciously.  
  
"You've never had to go to this Alley before," he said in a warning tone.  
  
"Actually I have," Harry said quickly before he could be interrupted. "I've always been able to go with someone else, though, but this year I can't."  
  
"Why not?" Dudley looked up with a sneer on his fat face.  
  
"I don't know," Harry replied. "I just can't. They told me I had to go before."  
  
An unpleasant grin began to grow from Uncle Vernon's smile. He snapped his paper once, then folded it and set it down on the table in front of him. Then, slowly and maliciously, he cracked his knuckles and leaned forwards to stare Harry in the face.  
  
"It looks like you've got a bit of a problem, then, haven't you boy?" he asked merrily. "You want me to drive you to this wizard shop of yours" - his face contorted and he shuddered on the word 'wizard' - "and it seems like if I don't take you, you won't be able to go to your little school. Dear me, what a problem."  
  
Harry moved away from the door and leaned against the wall. He had half expected his uncle to say something like that, and had prepared for it.  
  
"Well," he said slowly, as if considering, "I could always just try and go myself. It's not really very far, I suppose I could walk there." He shrugged. "Although," he continued pensively, "I'm not very strong, you know. There's a chance I might collapse on the way, and if someone finds me, well, they might think that you'd been abusing me. Especially if my Godfather's friends find out about it."  
  
"Ridiculous," Aunt Petunia scoffed, her voice rising almost a full octave with nerves. "After all we've done for you, you wouldn't dare."  
  
"Of course I'd tell them how generous you are," Harry added quickly, "but they might not believe me. I don't exactly look honest, do I?"  
  
"That's an understatement," Uncle Vernon muttered. He looked positively murderous. "Are you threatening me, boy?"  
  
Harry widened his eyes, trying to feign innocence. He held his hands out in front of him in defence.  
  
"Of course not," he protested. "Just . I'm leaving at the end of this week, Uncle Vernon. You don't have to take me to Kings Cross, another three days and I'll be gone for another year. But, if I haven't gone to Diagon Alley the people picking me up won't be happy, and they do know where you live."  
  
"So you are threatening him," Dudley said, in an astounding display of perceptiveness. Harry shot him a withering glare, which Aunt Petunia somehow seemed to intercept.  
  
"This is your gratitude?" she asked.  
  
"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly. He turned back to his Uncle. "Please, Uncle Vernon. I won't ask you for anything else at all, I promise. You don't have to send me anything for Christmas or anything, just, please take me? Just to the Eastern Bank of Commerce"  
  
"And I suppose you'll want to be picked up as well?" Uncle Vernon seemed to be considering. Harry tried to look hopeful. Finally, Uncle Vernon picked up his newspaper again. "It's ten o'clock now," he stated. "I have to go out at noon anyway, to pick up something from the office. The Bank is on the way, I suppose I could take you along with me, if you don't stink up the car. As for the return trip, well, Petunia needs to buy groceries later on, she'll be by there at about four. If you're on the curb waiting, she might be persuaded to pick you up."  
  
"Thank you!" Harry exclaimed. He left the kitchen quickly so that they wouldn't change their minds to spite him.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Harry spent the next two hours trying to pack his wizarding robes and his wand as tightly as he could. The Dursleys wouldn't be pleased with him bringing robes, and he hoped that if they were small enough they wouldn't notice them. Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, he heard Uncle Vernon's voice booming up the stairs.  
  
"If you're planning to come, boy, you should do it now. I don't have much the time to wait around for you; I'm a busy man."  
  
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry called back. He picked up the bundle of his robes and hurried down the stairs. Uncle Vernon looked at them distastefully and wrinkled his nose, but miraculously said nothing on the subject. Instead, he sniffed once, loudly, and stormed out of the house, almost slamming the door on Harry's hand.  
  
In the car he was just as bitter. Lips compressed in a thin, tight line, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the car ahead, although Harry could see his jaw working. He looked over twice, and Harry contained a wince each time, but in the end he just growled menacingly and went back to staring at licence plates. Harry was very relieved when he finally saw the Bank coming up on the left. He barely had enough time to jump out and grab his robes before Uncle Vernon sped away in a cloud of exhaust fumes.  
  
Harry pulled back the large, gilded double doors of the bank and entered the lobby nervously. Ahead of him, a long counter was divided into booths, and a line of people was standing behind it, waiting for the next available teller. Harry went to the end of the line, behind a tall man with a rather odd-looking purple hat. Slowly the line moved up, until the man with the hat approached the teller directly in front of him.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Wartlegot," the woman behind the counter exclaimed warmly. "How's your wife?"  
  
"She's fine," the man replied. "Got something she wants me to put in the safety-deposit box, again. You know her." The woman nodded sympathetically.  
  
"You've got your key, I suppose," she asked. Harry swallowed sharply. He'd forgotten about a key. How was he supposed to get back to the lockers without a key?  
  
As if he sensed Harry's dilemma, the man with the purple hat turned around suddenly. He looked straight at Harry, and his eyes flicked up to his forehead. Then he nodded minutely and smiled. Turning around, he beckoned to Harry with one hand.  
  
"My nephew's coming with me today, if that's all right?" he asked as Harry came up to join him. "Just came in with my sister; she gave him something to keep safe until she goes back to France."  
  
"Of course." The woman smiled warmly. She looked at Harry. "Enjoying your stay here?"  
  
France, Harry thought. He kept his expression blank, and sure enough, the wizard - for Harry was certain that he was a wizard - the wizard beside him shook his head somewhat sadly.  
  
"Doesn't speak a word of English," he said regretfully. "And I don't speak much French, but we get by, don't we?" Harry grinned vapidly. "Well, if it's all right, let's go check that parcel." And Harry was led off into the inner recesses of the bank.  
  
When they had left the lobby, he stopped and looked up at the wizard who had helped him. The man looked at him with a twinkle in his eyes.  
  
"Thank you very much," Harry began. The man held up his hand.  
  
"Not at all," he replied. "Not at all. I recognized you when you came in, thought you might need a little help. I remember my first time in here, after all." He extended the hand. "Dominion Wartlegot at your service."  
  
Harry took his hand and shook it. "Harry Potter," he replied somewhat unnecessarily.  
  
"Nice acting job," Dominion grinned. "Although, I should have expected as much coming from you. Listen, I'm the manager of a shop in Hogsmeade, Awll's Sorts. It's got a wide range of knick-knacks; if you're ever in need of anything, please do stop by."  
  
"Thank you," Harry answered. He unrolled his robes and shook them out, then shrugged them on and checked to make sure that his wand and other possessions were still safely in the pockets. Then, he turned to the wall of lockers to his right and found number seventy-one. Taking out his wand, he tapped the lock three times and stood back to see what would happen.  
  
The wall shimmered slightly, then solidified again. Harry looked anxiously at Dominion, who smiled reassuringly.  
  
"Farewell, then, Harry," he said, tipping his hat. Then, he straightened his shoulders and walked straight through the seemingly solid wall. Remembering King's Cross station and the magical barrier there, Harry followed him through. For a moment there was utter blackness and the feeling of stepping through a wall of mist or rain, and then Harry found himself completely dry stepping out of a doorway into Diagon Alley.  
  
All around him, witches and wizards were making their way in and out of stores, chattering and laughing merrily. Harry looked behind him and saw a small door made of dark wood. Above it hung a sign with a single word written on it: 'out'. It was stuffed between the Post Office and Flagra's Fine Footwear, utterly unassuming.  
  
Nearby he saw Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, and he knew that Flourish and Blotts was just down the way, but Harry realised suddenly that he was rather low on funds. The small velvet bag that normally contained all of his money was feeling very light, so instead he turned the other way and headed straight for Gringotts, the Wizard's bank.  
  
The building was still immense, with a gold tinged ceiling that made the light streaming in the windows seem older, somehow, more serious. The nearest wall was lined with large cushioned benches and tables, and many wizards and witches were seated there, counting their money or writing hurriedly in small books. One couple appeared to be in a heated discussion over finances. Harry quickly moved away and joined in one of the queues to speak with a bank goblin. He finally reached the counter.  
  
"Can I help you?" a voice asked in a gloomy monotone as a gnarled face appeared.  
  
"I need to make a withdrawal from Vault 687," Harry said. The goblin peered at him closely, looking suspicious.  
  
"And is this your vault, sir?" he asked shrewdly.  
  
"Um, yeah," Harry answered. "It's my vault, why else would I want to make a withdrawal?"  
  
"People do," the goblin muttered gravely. "Let's see your key, then, if its your vault?"  
  
Harry cast an appraising glance at the goblin, trying to see if he looked sane, then took a little golden key from his money bag and held it up just out of reach. The goblin leaned over the counter, peering at the key intently, before nodding once and drawing back.  
  
"Of course, Master Potter, of course." He sounded slightly apologetic. "Just a moment, sir." He snapped his fingers once, and suddenly another goblin appeared at his feet. "Greyfeil," the goblin teller snapped, "take Master Potter to his vault."  
  
"Of course," the goblin squeaked. Harry noticed that its voice was considerably higher than the other goblins he had heard before. The ears were also slightly longer and more delicate, and the hair was more delicately curled. Harry frowned. Was Greyfeil a female goblin?  
  
"If you'll follow me?" Greyfeil beckoned with one long finger and Harry noticed that the sharp-looking nail was painted a strange shade of puce green. "Right this way, Master Potter."  
  
Harry followed her through the bank and onto a somewhat shaky wooden cart. She set a lantern onto the bow and tapped it twice with her finger. The cart began to move.  
  
"I apologise for Grundy," the goblin said suddenly, turning to stare up at Harry. "He was in charge of bank security a few years ago when something was . stolen," she shuddered, "from one of the vaults, and he took it quite hard. He tends to be a little bit more cautious about who he lets through now."  
  
Harry, who was clutching onto the railing very tightly and trying to ignore the fact that it felt like his stomach was traveling at twice the speed of the rest of his body nodded with what he hoped was understanding.  
  
"It's . okay," he said finally, loosening his death grip on the rail and trying to relax. All around him he could see the glimmer of the lantern- light on the metal of the vault doors as they sped along, and once the cart swerved violently to avoid hitting another cart that was stopped in front of a vault. Greyfeil chuckled merrily as the man at the vault jumped up and cursed.  
  
The shaking cart made its way further and further into the depths of the bank, and soon it was completely dark save for the lantern.  
  
"Don't worry," Greyfeil said finally. "We're almost there, just a few more corners." Harry gave up on relaxing and clung to the rail until the cart stopped with an abrupt jerk. "See?" The goblin jumped spryly from the cart and took the lantern off of the bow. "Come on, Master Potter, I need your key."  
  
Harry followed her more slowly and dug his key out once more from his bag. He handed it over, and took the lantern in return when it was handed back to him. Greyfeil inserted the key into the lock and, like Griphook had years ago, ran her finger along the door. There was a series of metallic clicks and the door to the vault swung open.  
  
It didn't seem like the amount of money in the vault had lessened any, somewhat to Harry's relief. He scooped a quantity of galleons, sickles, and knuts into the little velvet bag, pleased to feel the comfortable weight of money again, and then stepped back to let the goblin close the door to the vault.  
  
The return trip on the cart was no less thrilling, although Harry managed finally to let go of the rail and settled for leaning nervously in the corner. He was beginning to notice the smell of fresh air, and had started to hope that he would be out soon when a sheet of flame suddenly shot out just ahead of the cart. They passed through it quickly, and Harry peered back over his shoulder to see the fire flicker out with a plume of smoke. He looked down at Greyfeil.  
  
"Dragon," she said cheerfully. "We have two here, they keep a watch out for intruders. That one must have caught someone sneaking in. Or else he might have heartburn." She shook her head. "Horrible when that happens."  
  
"Erm, right," Harry agreed.  
  
"The door to one of the vaults was melted shut a few years ago when one of them got heartburn," Greyfeil continued merrily. "We actually had to bring in a team of wizards down here, you know, to unseal it. We don't normally let that happen, of course, but as luck would have it, it just happened to be Vault 395." She paused dramatically, and when Harry didn't seem to pick up on the significance she shook her head. "Minister Fudge's fault," she explained.  
  
"Oh," Harry replied.  
  
"Anyway, the Minister ordered a team in, and we had to let him go ahead, since he can cut Ministry funding and all, and then the dragon-tamers had to come in and help the dragon out - but we got them out again without any lasting damage, so it's all right."  
  
Harry blinked, and then the cart suddenly emerged from the tunnels into the loading area.  
  
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Master Potter," Greyfeil said cheerfully. "Have a wonderful year!"  
  
"You too," Harry replied, feeling rather confused. When he looked back from the door, the goblin was still standing there, waving at him. Harry shrugged and left the bank.  
  
Newly financed, his first trip was into Madame Malkin's to get a new set of robes. His old ones were getting rather worn around the edges, as he hadn't had time to get a new set the previous year. He stood on the pedestal for a fitting, and then asked Madam Malkin for two new Hogwarts robes. He was about to leave, then changed his mind, and also ordered a new set of dress robes, in a green so deep that it was almost black. Rather than the simple school-cut of his previous set he flipped through a book of designs until he found one that he liked, slightly more elegant than before. Madam Malkin smiled at his choice and told him that he was lucky, because she had school robes in almost his exact measurements, and also had a very similar robe; in fact, she said, it should only take her a few hours to complete the tailoring.  
  
"Come back at about three o'clock and they'll be ready, dear," she said with a cheery smile, patting Harry fondly on the cheek despite the fact that he stood almost a foot taller than her.  
  
Harry checked his watch, and found that it was already half-past one. Quickly he made his way through the crowd to Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, casting furtive glances for Hermione along the way. The ice cream parlour was almost empty, save for an old witch who was sitting chatting with a young girl with bright blonde curls. After making certain he was alone, Harry ordered one of Fortescue's Magical Milkshakes and sat down at a table by the window to wait.  
  
He'd been there for about fifteen minutes when the door opened, with a chime that sounded like a chorus of tropical birds, and Hermione entered the ice cream parlour, carrying six huge bags. When she saw Harry she beamed and hurried over to his table, dropping the bags in a heap on the floor, then headed over to the counter to order her own ice cream. She returned, carrying a silver bowl in one hand and a tall glass in the other.  
  
"Sorry I'm late," she said quickly, putting the glass in front of Harry and sitting opposite him. "There was a giant sale in one of the book stores, and," she paused as Harry raised an eyebrow at the pile of bags, "all right, three of the book stores. I had to stock up, though, you never know when that type of thing will happen again." She blushed slightly as Harry laughed at her. "And, what is that thing?" She pointed at his glass with her spoon before tucking into her sundae.  
  
Harry looked down at his milkshake. The ice cream was a mix of what appeared to be chocolate and vanilla, with bright green bubbles forming on the surface and pale violet steam rising each time one popped. Harry shrugged, grimaced, and took a large sip.  
  
When he looked up, Hermione was staring curiously.  
  
"Cherry," he said brightly. "Quite good, actually." Hermione continued to look at him. Finally, Harry began to feel slightly uncomfortable, like he was under a very large microscope. "What?" he demanded at last.  
  
"Harry," Hermione sounded very grave and Harry inwardly winced. "Are you all right? Have you heard?"  
  
And suddenly everything made sense. Harry let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he replied, "on both counts. I've been working on the Occlumency thing, and my scar doesn't hurt as much as it used to, and Professor Dumbledore told me to write down my dreams, so-"  
  
"Wait," Hermione interrupted. "If you're practicing Occlumency you shouldn't be getting dreams at all! That's what Professor Dumbledore said last year. What if Voldemort tries to use you again like he did before?"  
  
Harry shook his head. "Apparently what I'm learning keeps him from getting in my mind. But, the dreams don't stop. Hey," he said brightly when Hermione looked horrified, "my scar doesn't hurt as much, right? That must mean something. And if Dumbledore thinks its all right, I'm sure it's fine. I mean, if I'd trusted him before then things might have turned out better."  
  
Hermione sighed. "I guess you'd know better than anyone," she conceded, "but are you sure you're not being used?"  
  
Harry swirled his milkshake and took another sip. "Green apple," he noted absently. Then he looked back at Hermione. "No," he said. "I'm not sure, exactly. But I get the dreams, and I can't exactly stop them, can I? I've just got to make do. Now, can we please change the topic? I'm sure it'll be the talk of the house in a few days, I'm kind of looking to enjoy the rest of my Voldemort-free week as best I can, if that's okay?"  
  
Hermione looked horrified.  
  
"Of course!" she exclaimed. She took a large bite of her sundae and made a task of eating all of the chopped nuts. Then she suddenly smiled. "What classes are you taking this year?"  
  
Harry glared at her. "First certain death, now school. What is it with you? All right, all right," he laughed suddenly when Hermione tried to hit him with her spoon. "Well, we all have to take History of Magic, and I'm thinking about becoming an Auror, so I've got to take Transfiguration, Charms, Defence, and Potions - well, I hope, anyway, I kind of didn't get an 'O' on my OWL, so I'm taking the make-up on the first day back."  
  
"You didn't get an 'O' on your OWL?" Hermione asked, looking astounded. "What did you get, then?"  
  
"An 'E'" Harry admitted. Hermione frowned.  
  
"That's . um . well, Potions wasn't exactly your best subject, now was it? That's pretty good, considering . erm . some things. And I'm sure you'll do just fine on the make-up - you can study really hard, and I've heard that the potion's not that hard anyway, if you only have to go up one grade . Ron got an A and he needs to take Potions for . well, something, I was kind of reading when he told me so I didn't quite hear, but his potion is a lot harder."  
  
Harry sighed, relieved. Considering Hermione's attitude towards academics, he was afraid that things would be a lot worse. Apparently she had decided to leave nagging him about school work until they were actually at Hogwarts, something he thoroughly approved of. However, there was a familiar glint in her eyes again, and Harry was afraid that he wasn't quite clear yet.  
  
"But Harry," Hermione continued, her tone becoming sharper, "To be an Auror you need to get 'E's or 'O's in all of your NEWTs, and some of the things are really hard . you have to take Advanced Magics, and that's supposed to be one of the hardest courses there is . except for Arithmancy, of course, but," she stopped with a little laugh.  
  
"That and Wards and Protections, yeah," Harry agreed. "You don't think I can do it?" He looked at her critically.  
  
"No, no, no!" Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head quickly. A faint blush coloured her cheeks. "You can do fine, I'm sure."  
  
"Right." Harry took another sip of his milkshake and found it to be something between pineapple and grapefruit. "So, what are you taking that I'm not?"  
  
"Arithmancy and Muggle Studies," Hermione replied promptly. Harry blinked and shook his head in amazement.  
  
"You're not taking Ancient Runes anymore?" he asked incredulously. "You used to live for that subject. And why are you taking Muggle Studies? How many times do I have to tell you that you're Muggle-born?"  
  
"I could only take eight courses," Hermione said sadly. "And I thought that Muggle Studies would be much more practical, when it comes down to it. Although," she looked wistful. "We were really starting to break grounds with Celtic runes and the connections between Dwarven magic and signs of the Norse inhabitation of Canada." Harry stared at her, raising one eyebrow as high as he could manage, and Hermione flushed and cleared her throat. "Anyways, Harry, Muggle Studes is an amazing learning experience. It's about changing perspective. Really, Harry, if you took it I'm sure you'd find it fascinating."  
  
"Yeah, right."  
  
"All right," Hermione said in a voice that made Harry feel rather stupid, "fine then. You don't have to take an interest in Muggle Studies, I can't force you."  
  
"I live with Muggles!" Harry exclaimed. Hermione sniffed and took a prim bite of her ice cream. Harry looked down at his watch.  
  
"Listen, Hermione," he said, looking up, "my aunt may or may not pick me up at four o'clock, but it's already two and I have a lot of things I have to do - if you want to come with me?" Hermione shook her head.  
  
"I've already gotten everything I need," she replied. "Anyway, it's probably about time I left anyway, so I guess I'll see you next week sometime." She gathered up her bags and gave Harry a cheerful smile.  
  
"Bye, 'Mione," he called after her as she left to the choir of tropical birds. Harry finished off the last of his now-blueberry drink and followed her out of the door.  
  
Harry spend the next two hours wandering Diagon Alley, trying to rid himself of some of his money. He wandered into the Diagon branch of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop and picked up two self-sharpening quills, as well as an ornate quill with a beautiful black plume. He also bought two pots of black ink, and one each of red, green, and gold, the latter as a random trivial amusement, and then left quickly before he could buy anything else he didn't need.  
  
At the Apothecary there was a huge crowd, and Harry had difficulty obtaining some of his supplies; he was rather pleased to get the very last pound of powdered glow-worm, although he couldn't find any chopped snakeroot and was forced to get them whole instead. By the time he made it to the counter to pay for everything he had bumped into three other Hogwarts students and their parents, including Luna Lovegood, who smiled dreamily at him and asked whether or not he had taken advantage of the sale on Non-Extant Bats. Harry managed to decline politely and pay, and then hurried out of the shop before he could be accosted by anyone else.  
  
Finally he went to Flourish and Blotts, and mercifully managed to get all of his schoolbooks with no problems and only minimal delay. This year, none of his textbooks seemed to be alive or malicious, which was something of a relief, although Harry noticed that the third year Charms book seemed to have an inclination to float and glitter randomly. There was something about the younger Years, it appeared, that inspired writers to magically charm their textbooks.  
  
When he looked at his watch Harry saw with surprise that it was somehow half-past three. He quickly dropped his money in the cashier's hand, then grabbed his books and left the store. At Madam Malkin's he was greeted by a cheery-faced young wizard who handed him a large, wrapped package with a knowing wink that made Harry wonder if the guy knew something that he didn't, and then proceeded to unwrap the package again to show Harry that the three robes he had ordered were, in fact, all there. By the time the packages were rewrapped he was beginning to worry about getting out of Diagon Alley on time. Aunt Petunia wasn't a patient woman, after all, and Harry suspected that she might even come early, in the hopes of missing him.  
  
Finally Harry made his way out of the shop, with the cheerful cries of the young shop clerk following at his heels. He hurried against the crowd, until he finally crashed straight into a fat, balding wizard carrying what looked like a dead parrot.  
  
"Quite right," a dreamy voice said to his left, where Luna stood smiling vapidly. "I'd run too if there was a giant Hornelgloff chasing me! Do you want to do another interview for my dad's paper?"  
  
"Uh, no thanks," Harry said quickly, after apologizing profusely to the portly wizard, who glared at him for a moment and then brushed by without a word. Harry also continued on, resisting the urge to look back in case Luna's giant Hornelgloff was, by some random fluke of fate, chasing him, and instead focused his attention on getting through the ally as swiftly as possible.  
  
Harry finally reached the small door marked with the not-quite-eloquent sign. He opened it, thinking to see the insides of the bank, perhaps, but it was utterly and totally black. Biting back misgivings Harry stepped through the doorway and once again felt the sensation of tingling mist. When he blinked again, half trying to clear the water from his eyes, he found himself standing in the middle of an aisle of shining silver lockers, in the centre of a very Muggle bank. Quickly Harry took off his robes and rolled them around his wand, trying once again to make the bundle as small as possible. Then, after checking to make sure that there was no-one in sight, he made his way out of the maze of silver vaults.  
  
True to his suspicions, Harry only had to wait for a minute before Aunt Petunia drove by, although his watch indicated that he still had a good six minutes before four o'clock. She gave him a sour look as she pulled over, but made no move to stop him from getting in the car. After receiving the standard admonition that touching anything at all would result in a slow and painful death, Harry was left to sit in a rather hostile silence as the wizarding world was left behind and he entered once more into the suburban nightmare that was his 'home'.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
On Sunday morning Harry woke up ridiculously early and for the life of him could not get back to sleep. This did spare him from having to be called from sleep by the screeching of his Aunt, and by the time breakfast had been made and consumed - Harry tragically having rather a greater role in the former than the latter - he was feeling a bit more settled in. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia both gave him suspicious looks as he set to clearing the table, but for whatever reason decided against questioning him. Perhaps the fact that he was about to leave for the rest of the summer added to their generous natures.  
  
Dudley naturally felt no such compunction, and spent the entire morning throwing small wheat puffs at Harry's head when his parents weren't looking, and sometimes when they were. Uncle Vernon patted him on the shoulder and told him that if he aimed a little to the right he might hit Harry on the temple and knock him out. Harry decided to leave at that point, but Aunt Petunia called him back.  
  
"What's going on today?" she asked, looking slightly nervous. "How are these . people . planning on getting here?"  
  
"They are not using my fireplace!" Uncle Vernon bellowed suddenly, rising dramatically to his feet. "Not after the mess they made of it the last time, they're not! I refuse!"  
  
"Don't worry," Harry said calmly. "Professor Lupin is driving up. As in a car," he added when Uncle Vernon continued to eye him suspiciously. "He knows how to drive, and he owled me yesterday to say that he would be coming at about one o'clock."  
  
Uncle Vernon looked slightly pacified, but still hovered over his chair, waiting to jump up again. "What type of car does this Professor Loopy drive?" he demanded.  
  
"Lupin," Harry corrected absently. "And how should I know? I've never seen it."  
  
"Is it a flying car?" Dudley asked suddenly. His eyes grew rounder and he set his spoon down quickly into his cereal, sending milk splashing over the table. "Like last time, when they kidnapped you and tried to kill Daddy?"  
  
"No," Harry replied. "It's a different set of people, and anyway, it got caught sometime last year."  
  
"Damn right," Uncle Vernon agreed with approval.  
  
Aunt Petunia seemed to be slightly swifter. "Caught," she asked slowly, expression turning fearful once more. Harry nodded.  
  
"Yeah, it was running around the forest for a few years, but a team of Ministry wizards went in early last summer and caught it." Harry was rewarded by looks of utter confusion on all three of the Dursley's faces. He stifled a grin and turned from the table. "If that's all, I do have to pack, you know, if I'm going to get out of here in two hours." They just sat staring at each other, so Harry took that as unspoken consent and left the kitchen.  
  
Packing up everything only took and hour, since the majority of his wizarding items were already stored in his trunk. Harry dawdled at it, taking out his books from the previous year and adding them to the existing shelf in his closet and then organizing the books by year and by height, just for the sake of it. He flipped briefly through his Advanced Magics textbook, but found everything beyond the first few chapters to be progressively more incomprehensible. He wondered briefly what on earth he was getting himself into, but shook it off before it could develop into worry.  
  
His old robes Harry kept - they were still useful for practical lessons or anything where he might get dirty, and they weren't horribly small, just a little bit short around the sleeves. He put them close to the bottom, and stuffed the bundle of new robes at the top. Then he raided his chest of drawers for Muggle clothing - jeans, t-shirts, sweaters, and socks - to wear under his robes.  
  
The rest of his trinkets, ranging from the irritating magic eight-ball to his semi-animate Hungarian Horntail, were crammed into any remaining space, and then Harry spent the next hour flipping through his Quidditch book.  
  
Harry was looking up for now the seventh time when he heard the sound of a car horn in front of the house. He put the book on top of his clothing and slammed the lid of the trunk closed, then hurried down the stairs to the front hallway. Uncle Vernon was standing by the door with Aunt Petunia, who was talking to Dudley in hushed tones.  
  
"I want you to stay far away from these people, who ever they are," she said sternly. Dudley nodded quickly and made a faint whimpering noise, moving to hide behind his father. He had never come out of a meeting like this without some disfigured body part or other injury, and obviously had no desire to repeat the experience. Harry privately thought that the chances of anything happening today was highly unlikely, considering Remus Lupin's disposition, but he decided not to say anything about it. It wasn't like they would believe him, anyway.  
  
Instead he got as close to the door as he could manage with his uncle's massive bulk in the way and tapped him on the arm.  
  
"Are you going to open the door, then?" he asked tentatively. Uncle Vernon grunted.  
  
"In due time, boy," he said. "In good time." He was peering through the small quartered glass window in the door, apparently trying to assess 'Professor Loopy's' character by his car. Harry moved away from the door and decided instead to watch whatever it was going on through the window on one side of the door.  
  
Professor Lupin had apparently been waiting in the car for Harry to come out, but when it appeared that he wasn't going to come, Lupin got out of the car and approached the door. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia instinctively drew back from the door as the unassuming man walked slowly to the front. Despite this warning when the doorbell rang they all jumped higher than Harry would have thought possible, considering at least Uncle Vernon's weight. Panting slightly he opened the door.  
  
"Can I help you?" he asked gruffly.  
  
"Well, yes." Lupin looked mildly confused. "I was coming to pick up Harry Potter, actually. I thought you knew?"  
  
"Oh," Uncle Vernon grunted. "That. So, you're him, then."  
  
"Yes," Lupin replied, still looking slightly baffled by Vernon's strange attitude. "Is Harry here, by any chance?"  
  
Harry took that as his opportunity and squeezed himself under his uncle's arm to peer out. "I'm right here," he said cheerfully, giving Lupin a grin. "I was just having a bit of difficulty with my trunk, that's all. I can't really do much, but I was wondering if you could help?" The man smiled.  
  
"Of course, Harry," he replied easily. "If I could just get in, that is." He shot Vernon a pointed look and crossed his arms, eyebrows raised, until the man spluttered something and stepped aside, face an unpleasant shade of puce. "Thank you very much," Lupin said pleasantly, stepping across the threshold.  
  
Dudley looked slightly terrified.  
  
"Mummy," he whimpered, "are they like Vampires? Once you've invited them in can they come in anytime they want and kill you?"  
  
For once Harry saw a flash of the person Aunt Petunia might have been if she hadn't been overwhelmed with first her hatred of her sister and secondly her adoration with her son. Despite her discomfort she suddenly looked rather irritated.  
  
"Of course not," she said more briskly than Harry had ever heard her speak to her son. "They're still human, in a way."  
  
"The bit about vampires is true, though," Lupin called helpfully down the stairs. "So, make sure that you never invite one into your home."  
  
"He's not a vampire, is he?" Uncle Vernon hissed. Harry laughed.  
  
"No," he replied. He was tempted to tell them what Lupin was, but held his tongue at the last minute. People knowing things was dangerous, he thought suddenly, and the Dursleys were Muggle and therefore quite unable to defend themselves against torture. The sudden thought vanished, and Harry ran to the foot of the stairs.  
  
"Professor," he called up, "do you need any help?"  
  
"No, thank you Harry," came the reply. "I'll be along in a second - you might want to all step away from the stairs, though. I'll be sending the trunk down slightly ahead of myself."  
  
And indeed a few seconds later Harry's school trunk came floating gently down the stairs, floating a few feet above the ground. It settled on the mat by Harry's feet with a soft thump and once again the Dursleys all jumped back in fear. Harry made some show of calmly walking over and checking to make sure that all of the fastenings were still locked, and noticed Dudley looking at him with a jumbled mix of awe, shock, and hatred all flashing across his pig-like features. Harry laughed at him silently.  
  
Lupin came down the stairs, looking at everyone with a mildly amused expression on his face.  
  
"Is everything all right?" he asked in a deeply concerned voice, and then shrugged sympathetically when everyone immediately nodded their heads emphatically. "And that's everything for you, Harry?"  
  
"Yeah." Harry was still caught up in the pleasure of being able to watch his relatives utterly defeated, and hardly noticed as Lupin opened the door and sent his trunk on ahead with a flick of his wand. He turned to the Dursleys with a huge grin. "I'll see you next summer," he said cheerfully. "I had a brilliant time this year." And with that he left number four, Privet drive, with the satisfaction of watching Uncle Vernon try to blow himself up with consternation.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
There was huge commotion when he reached number twelve, Grimmauld Place. As soon as he entered the main hall Harry found himself caught up in a huge hug until the world began to go misty and faint gold stars started spinning around his head. He made a noise that he hoped would convey the fact that he was choking to death and was set down immediately by a rather abashed looking Mrs. Weasley.  
  
"Harry, dear, how are you?" she exclaimed. "You're still looking thin, of course, but that's to be expected, and nothing I can't fix given some time and a decent kitchen, and we've got both of those here. Ron's been desolate without you and Hermione, of course, but I think it was you he was missing especially." She winked.  
  
"Um . thanks," Harry managed. "It's . great to be back here, how've you been over the year? And thanks for the tarts, by the way, if Ron didn't tell you. They were great."  
  
"Of course they were," Mrs. Weasley replied with a huge smile. "I'm glad you enjoyed them, dear. Now, I'll just have Fred and George take your trunk up to your room, now, shall I - FRED WEASLEY, GEORGE WEASLEY, GET DOWN HERE NOW, I'VE GOT SOMETHING USEFUL FOR YOU TO DO! Oh, and Harry, is that a new shirt? It looks wonderful on you."  
  
Somewhat stunned, Harry smiled weakly and stepped backwards just as a loud pop sounded and Fred - or maybe George - Apparated to the spot he had been standing in a moment before.  
  
"Mum, don't yell," Fred - or maybe George - cautioned quickly in hushed tones. "You'll wake up Mrs. Black - she seems to hate you more than everyone else, can't imagine why."  
  
"You can yell at us all you want in the kitchen," the other twin added helpfully on Harry's other side.  
  
"Well if you two wouldn't disappear to the deeps of the house where even Ginny can't find you I wouldn't have to yell, now would I?" Mrs. Weasley retorted briskly, but she cast a hurried glance at the curtain hanging on the back wall. It rippled slightly but the portrait behind it remained silent. "Anyway, Hestia put a sleeping charm on her, so I don't expect to hear anything for the next few hours at least. Now," she rounded on the twins. "Take Harry's trunk up to his room."  
  
"Harry!" one of them exclaimed. "Look, George, Harry's here!" Harry silently thanked him for the hint. George grinned.  
  
"You know, I hadn't noticed, standing right in front of him and all. How've you been?"  
  
"Great," Harry replied. "What about you two? Everything working out all right?" He avoided looking at Mrs Weasley, who undoubtedly knew by now that he had financed her sons' entrepreneurial venture but had yet to bring it up.  
  
"Oh, it's brilliant," Fred beamed. "We've been in the shop already - it's still not quite ready for opening, since we've been kind of busy with stuff going on here, you know, but we've got all our supplies in and we're just setting up the front room."  
  
"And with Umbrage gone we don't have to have any discounts any more!" George added gleefully. "Until we find other reasons, of course."  
  
At this point Mrs Weasley shook her head and sighed. "I want you both to know that I completely disapprove," she said warningly, pointing her finger at the twins. Harry noticed that he had been excluded from this and thought that just maybe he stood a chance of not feeling her wrath. "You didn't even take your NEWTs, for Merlin's sake, what if you want to do something later in life?"  
  
"We are doing something, Mum," Fred said wearily, and Harry suspected that this was a common argument. "We're doing what we want to, and we're good at it."  
  
"Just because you don't approve doesn't mean it's not a legitimate thing to do," George added. "I mean, what about Gershwin Zonko? You don't send letters nagging at him to get a new job, do you?" Suddenly he looked suspicious. "Do you?"  
  
"Of course not," Mrs Weasly scoffed. "He is a grown man who entered into the business when he was twenty-four, after taking all of his required courses and graduating with decent grades from Hogwarts - none of this flying off on brooms nonsense - and then trying many different career paths before settling into that one."  
  
"Well we could've done that too," George replied, "but we know what'd happen. We'd get through Hogwarts fine, both follow Dad into the Ministry to work at some low-end job like Assistant Aide to the Sub-Chief of the Department of Irrelevant Idiosyncrasies before realising that the pay sucked, the holidays were shit, and the Aide to the Sub-Chief of the Department of Irrelevant Idiosyncrasies was a brown-nosing prat who worked for You-Know-Who."  
  
Fred picked it up from there, ignoring his mothers comment about language and the shudder that passed through the crowd at the reference to Voldemort.  
  
"Then," he continued with a flourish, "we'd have a meeting between the two of us to figure out how to handle the situation, end up hexing the bloody git of an Aide until he looked like a cross between a kneasle and a mushroom, and then quit the Ministry before they could fire us. At that point Fudge would then blame everything on Dad, which would bring horrible dishonour to the family. We'd be fugitives, and we'd have to change our names and wear permanent Glamours to hide our identities. And then we'd decide to go into the jokeshop business."  
  
"So really," George finished off, grinning, "we'd be in the exact same situation we're in now, except that the Weasley name would be tarnished forever, and instead of the loveable Fred and George you'd have Ihmad and Jyb, the Saudi Arabian twins from Estonia."  
  
He nodded sharply, obviously immensely pleased with himself. Mrs Weasley just rolled her eyes and flapped her hands at him.  
  
"Trunk," she said firmly. "Go."  
  
With identical grins on their faces the twins each grabbed one end of Harry's trunk and Disapparated with a loud crack. The cloth covering Mrs. Black's painting fluttered suddenly, and a low moan filled the hall, but the woman in the portrait didn't wake, and soon the cloth settled again. Seconds later the twins appeared again, empty handed.  
  
"We'll take you up to your room now, if you want," Fred offered generously, coming over to loop his arm around Harry's shoulders. "You're in a different place this time - there was a weird infestation of Bundimuns when we came here at the beginning of this summer. We cleaned them out before they could do any real damage, but you never know if there's anything else, you know?"  
  
"Come on." George headed up the staircase. "You're on the other side of the corridor."  
  
"Great access to the kitchens," Fred added as he almost dragged Harry after him. "Mum's got a new fetish with trying to fatten us all up for eating, or something, so there's nearly always something on the stove." He waved his wand at one of the doors. There was a sound of things clicking into place, and then the serpentine handle glowed a pale yellow. "Right in here." He opened the door.  
  
Harry looked suspiciously at it.  
  
"What exactly was that?" he demanded. George shrugged.  
  
"Once you've got an infestation you never know where the little buggers are going to go," he answered. "We magically sealed all of the free rooms on the hallway at the beginning of the summer. That one just hasn't been unsealed yet, is all."  
  
Harry frowned, but followed the twins into the room. It was surprisingly cheery, considering the relative gloom of the corridor. The single bed was elaborate and silver, with a bright green comforter and silver pillows, delicate snakes curling over the headboard. The rest of the room was similarly Slytherin, but still managed to be well-lit and bright. Harry's trunk sat in the far corner off the room, next to a small ebony desk with silver trimming.  
  
"Very . nice," he said finally. "I'm not sharing with Ron, then?" Fred and George shook their heads.  
  
"Nah, there aren't any more double rooms on this floor," George replied. "And you don't want to the third floor."  
  
"Cobwebs everywhere," Fred shuddered. "And I think there might be an Acromantula up there somewhere - but don't tell Ron. We're saving that for later." He looked positively evil and Harry couldn't stop a laugh.  
  
After making sure that Harry was nicely settled in the twins Disapparated and left him to his own devices. Harry unpacked everything he thought he could use, then spent the next hour trying to practice emptying his mind of emotions and thoughts. Snape, he realised, could show up at any point, and he would die before he let himself fail again. In the distance, down the hall, Harry could hear voices talking in the entrance hall. He thought he recognized the voices of Tonks and Mr Weasley, and then suddenly the shrill screech of Mrs Black as she apparently woke up.  
  
Time seemed to slow down as Harry tried to push the voices from his mind, but instead he found himself lulled by the tones. He pulled them in to him, like a blanket, until he could no longer make out words or even distinguish between the soft noises, which gradually receeded from his mind until he was left in a world of perfect, pearl white. He had succeeded before in blocking out thoughts and feeling, but it had never gone this far.  
  
The impression flew through his mind and was lost again.  
  
Suddenly Harry was brought back with a jolt as the door to his room was thrown open, slamming into the opposite wall with a sharp crack. He blinked twice to focus himself and found himself staring straight at Ron's face. Harry jumped.  
  
"Ron!"  
  
"Hey, mate, you're all right, then." Ron grinned suddenly, and Harry realised that he had been looking somewhat worried. "You looked like you were in a trance or something, I thought you might have been possessed, or . yeah."  
  
"Don't worry," Harry laughed with an ease that almost worried him. "I'm just working on something Dumbledore told me to do, nothing to worry about. Sorry if I scared you, I was kind of caught up in my head."  
  
Ron nodded confidently. "That's good," he said. "I was worried that -" he paused, suddenly, looking uncomfortable, and cleared his throat anxiously. "Anyway, Mum sent me up to let you know that dinner was ready. I would of come earlier, you know, but Fred and George kind of got me to test out their Stox in a Box and it took them a while to get me out again. Sorry about that."  
  
"No problem," Harry replied with a chuckle.  
  
"Well, come on." Ron moved towards the door. "Everyone's already at the table - well, except for Professor Lupin, but he's gone to pick up Hermione, and he said he'd be back before desert, which means that he'll probably come in after soup. He's obsessed with Mum's apple tart."  
  
Harry followed him down two flights of stairs and into the dining room, where everyone suddenly looked up and beamed at him. It seemed like almost the entire Order was there, although Harry didn't see Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Lupin was obviously not present. He was suddenly and painfully reminded of the fact that Sirius was dead and felt anger and sorrow wash over him before he forced them away. Harry would never be grateful to Snape, ever, but he could appreciate the usefulness of being able to deal with his emotions when he wasn't staring at a table full of cheerful Order members. Harry smiled.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Dinner was delicious, and it appeared that Fred hadn't been joking about his mother and her food kick, although Harry had difficulty concentrating on the food. Throughout the meal he was bombarded with questions, and after reassuring everyone that yes - he was fine, no - he hadn't been treated too horribly, yes - he was glad to be here, yes - he was looking forward to school, no - he didn't want them to torture Uncle Vernon, and yes - he really was fine, Harry was beginning to wonder if everyone wasn't slightly deaf.  
  
Lupin came in half way through, bringing with him an absolutely extatic Hermione, which then led to another round of questioning, mercifully directed at her while Harry took the opportunity to take a breath and enjoy the spiced chicken. By the time Mrs Weasley had waved her wand, making the leftovers vanish to the kitchen and leaving in their place two steaming pies, he was starting to feel somewhat normal.  
  
Ron and Hermione kept trying to talk to him and each other, but with the high spirits of everyone else it was virtually impossible, and all three resigned themselves to being active participants in meaningful conversation. The pies - apple and blueberry, were absolutely delicious, and when drinks were handed out everyone settled into an easy sense of peace. Ron spent that portion of the evening sending glares at Fred and George who, like the rest of the adults, had received pumpkin wine rather than the juice that was handed out to him, Harry, and Hermione, until Tonks finally passed him her own goblet, much to Mrs Weasley's dismay. Harry noticed that Mr Weasley, safe on the other side of the table, chuckled behind his hand.  
  
Finally a witch with shining black hair and rosy cheeks yawned slightly and turned to beam at Mrs Weasley.  
  
"Thanks for the meal, Molly," she said in a rich, low voice. "I'd better stock up on your potatoes while I still can, although I do remember Hogwarts food is still pretty good." Harry started.  
  
"Hogwarts?"  
  
The woman smiled, but it was Mr Weasley who spoke.  
  
"Yes, Hogwarts. You wouldn't have heard, naturally, but Hestia will be filling the Defence position this year." He tapped his nose conspiratorially. "Albus and I thought it would be best to get as many of our people into Hogwarts as possible, and with the positions available and Hestia qualified, well, it made perfect sense."  
  
Hermione leaned forwards.  
  
"You said as many people as possible?" she reiterated. "Who else is going to be coming?"  
  
Mrs Weasley suddenly scowled and Mr Weasley laughed in a rather embarrassed fashion.  
  
"Well," he said, casing a glance at his wife, "The Wards and Protections teacher from the last few years had to take an extended leave of absence - his father died and his mother's health's been rather delicate for the last while, so he has to take care of her. Anyway, we were looking at who we could put in, and really there was only one option."  
  
"Who is ." Ron prompted, and Harry was surprised that he hadn't heard.  
  
"Him." Mrs Weasley pointed a disdainful finger across the table to a small man who was hunched over his plate, periodically looking up as if he was afraid of being caught. Harry suppressed a snort, although Ron, Fred, and George didn't do so well, and Hermione coughed as her eyebrows shot up to her hairline.  
  
"Dung?" Ron exclaimed. Tonks snickered and twirled a bleached blond ringlet around one finger. "HE's teaching at Hogwarts?" Mundungus looked up from his plate with a mildly offended look on his face.  
  
"Yeah," he replied. "What, you think I can't teach a class? I've done plenty of . decent . stuff in my time, don't you make no mistake. Either of you takin' Wards?" Harry raised a hand slightly. "Great! 'Arry, you'll have a fine time, no worries. I'll teach ye' stuff you never thought a body could do!"  
  
Harry turned his grimace into a rather sick smile and sank back in his chair.  
  
"And of course," Mr Weasley said cheerfully, "There's Remus." Harry blinked.  
  
"What's he teaching?" Ron asked suddenly, ecstatic.  
  
"Muggle Studies," Lupin replied.  
  
Hermione looked like she had been given the answer to the meaning of life. She gave Harry a look that was perilously close to a gloating stare, and stuck her tongue out at Ron, who looked crestfallen.  
  
"I told you that you should have taken it," she pronounced.  
  
"Albus had to fight with Fudge to get him in," Tonks said seriously. Her hair now fell in sleek black waves much like Hestia's. "I was there, of course - but don't tell anyone, they thought I was someone else - and anyway, I thought it was almost going to get physical. Fudge was ranting on about how it wasn't safe, except that Albus pointed out that he'd been at the school for seven years at a student and one as a teacher with absolutely no accidents, except for one thing that wasn't his fault." She paused for breath. "Then they said he didn't have the qualifications, but you know, Remus spent quite a few years living with Muggles after he left Hogwarts, so he actually knows a lot about them, and after that there wasn't really much else that Fudge could say, so he was in."  
  
Lupin had turned a faint shade of pink while Tonks was talking, and now looked somewhat uncomfortable. For all of his friendly personality, Harry reflected, he really was a quiet person, and this extra attention focused on him in a completely positive light seemed to be making him uncomfortable. Harry gave him a reassuring smile and got one in return.  
  
Slowly talk began to turn towards more serious matters. Bill and Charlie, who had apparently both come in just a few days ago, cleared the table and disappeared to the kitchen to sort out dirty dishes, with a grateful look from their mother, then came back again to sit down at the table with serious expressions on their faces. Finally, Harry thought, he might learn something new.  
  
In the beginning the conversation revolved around issues in the Ministry. Tonks explained that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been sent out on an emergency mission to try and capture one of the Death Eaters. Now, with the public starting to believe that there really was something happening, sightings of the reported Death Eaters were coming in more frequently, and were being believed. They had apparently come within minutes of catching Bellatrix Lestrange one evening, but she had been tipped off about their arrival and had left a wonderfully cocky message in her wake. The Ministry was now on the lookout for spies, although they weren't very hopeful. The body of one Antonin Dolohovhad been recovered in the ruins of Little Hangleton, and although his body had been burned the Dark Mark on his left arm was plain to see, but a dead Death Eater, while slightly ironic, was no help to anyone.  
  
At that point Hermione raised her hand.  
  
"What exactly did happen to Little Hangleton?" she asked. "I mean, I heard -" she cast a guilty look at Ron "that it got destroyed, but . how did it happen? The Daily Prophet said that the Dark Mark hung in the sky for hours . would morsmordre really do that?"  
  
Everyone shuddered at the mention of the spell, and Lupin shook his head sadly.  
  
"No," he replied. "The smoke that made up that image came as the result of the Killing Curse used on buildings. For a Mark with that clarity and size . the Curse was used on every single person, every single building in the town."  
  
"A lot of magic," Bill remarked softly.  
  
"A lot of death," Charlie echoed.  
  
The room started to fall silent once more. Harry swallowed once, then decided that someone had to take initiative here.  
  
"Um," he said awkwardly, "I'm sorry, but - why haven't Ron, Hermione and I been kicked out of the room yet?" Ron shot him a murderous look, but Hermione looked mildly curious as well. Mr Weasley nodded pensively.  
  
"Things have changed since last year," he said. "You - we've all been talking a great deal about you. You in particular, Harry, of course, although we have had to address the issue you to present as well. Last year it was agreed that you were too young to be included in the discussions going on here. We still think you're too young, primarily, but sometimes that doesn't matter. Harry, your dreams will show you the truth regardless how much of it we decide to tell you, and we've decided that its best to help explain what we can, to give you a context. And, of course, I can't expect you to keep silent from Ron or Hermione, although I trust you could if needed."  
  
Ron looked somewhat relieved.  
  
"We are now at a stalemate," Hestia Jones said quietly. "We have spies on the inside of You-Know-Who's ranks, of course," Ron and Hermione looked vaguely surprised, the former more than the latter, "and the reports indicate that while he has not heard the first part of the prophecy he does have access to a second."  
  
"A second prophecy?" Hermione repeated. "What does it say?" Hestia sighed.  
  
"If only we knew," she said wistfully. "Our informant has been told nothing about the prophecy, and has therefore been able to tell us nothing. If we even knew what it referred to generally we could have some clue as to how to proceed, but until we find out something more useful we just have to wait until he does something, and then try and go from there."  
  
"All we do know," Lupin continued, "is that the boy mentioned in the first prophecy," he looked sympathetically at Harry, "plays a crucial part in the second. We think that means there's something about you that we haven't figured out yet, but . I'm sorry Harry, we really don't know."  
  
Harry shrugged. Whatever it was, it wasn't anything new. Naming something about him wouldn't change anything, so it didn't really matter. He decided to devote his attention to other people instead. Ron and Hermione looked concerned, but he shook his head and turned back to the adults.  
  
"We're startin' to worried 'bout Sevvie now," Mundungus said suddenly, looking at Tonks. "'Ow's the Ministry doin' with 'im?"  
  
Tonks frowned, chewing on her lip. "I don't really get told much," she said. "I'm still pretty new around there, and there are some people with heavy prejudices, of course. I mean, he was a Death Eater, Merlin's sake, and he's not exactly a nice person to boot. If he'd just try a bit harder to seem pleasant and reformed?"  
  
Everyone shook there heads in unison, and a snicker ran around the table. The image of Snape being nice was highly amusing, and also somewhat disturbing. Harry rather thought that if Snape ever was honestly pleasant to him, the world would probably implode.  
  
"So," he asked finally. "Does anyone know what happened to the secret weapon that you were talking about last year? Was the prophecy it, or?" Am I likely to get killed in my sleep, was what he was really asking, but he didn't want to say it that flat out. Again, though, the question was greeted with a slightly sad silence.  
  
"We really don't know," said Charlie, surprising Harry. He hadn't spoken much throughout the entire evening, and Harry would have thought that he wouldn't have heard much of what was going on, being away in Romania for most of the year. However, it appeared that no one could be taken too lightly.  
  
"We hope that we were wrong, of course," he continued. "But we're going to pretend that we were right, just in case. Either way, it's only just begun."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The arrival of Snape and Dumbledore was heralded by a massive dark cloud that hung, quite literally, over the dining room table as breakfast was served. The last week had been quiet, by Weasley standards. Most of the members of the Order had departed the first night, or else the next morning, leaving only the Weasleys and Lupin, although everyone stopped by at least once to say hello and investigate the kitchen. Fred and George had hidden themselves away, after asking Harry repeatedly whether he wanted to help them with their research. The results of these mysterious studies were always revealed to the family once they had been properly tested, hence the cloud.  
  
Mr Weasley and Lupin had been trying to get rid of it for twenty minutes to no avail when suddenly, without any spoken word, flash of light, or any other warning, the could and all of its rain vanished without a trace. Harry had been talking to Charlie at the table, comparing Quidditch ideas, and he spun around to see Albus Dumbledore standing in the doorway with a wand in his hand and a twinkle in his eyes. Beside him Snape seemed to be trying to fill the gap left when the thundercloud disappeared.  
  
"Interesting charm, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore said softly. "I apply this, of course, to whichever of you happens to hear, as I'm sure it will be relevant either way."  
  
There was a loud pop and the twins appeared, knocking over a chair.  
  
"Thanks, sir," George said warmly, sketching an absurd bow. "We always aim to please. Could we perhaps interest you -?" He cut off at a warning look from Dumbledore, whose eyes nonetheless continued to twinkle, and shrugged regretfully. "Ah well, I didn't think so, but it was worth a shot." With that he and Fred promptly vanished again. Mrs Weasley stared suspiciously at the spot where they had been standing, and Harry thought he had an idea of what was bothering her.  
  
"How'd they hear that?" he asked Charlie, who grinned.  
  
"Never underestimate them," he said. "They're inventors by nature, and you never know what they'll come up with when they think it's necessary. Or funny, or just annoying."  
  
"Charlie," Dumbledore said suddenly, "I'm sorry to have arrived to find you previously engaged in a conversation, but if I can pry you away for a moment there are matters I must discuss with you. If that's all right with you, of course," he added turning to Harry, who shook his head and got up from his seat.  
  
"That's fine, sir," he said. "We were just talking Quidditch, nothing important."  
  
"Quidditch is a noble sport," Dumbledore replied seriously. "In fact, for many wizards it is the only sport, although I find myself prone to watching the odd game of football now and then." He smiled slightly. "I would never even have considered interrupting if I did not think that your time, too, might be requested. Or am I mistaken, Severus?"  
  
He turned to Professor Snape, who stood glowering in the doorway.  
  
"Indeed," the other man said slowly. The word was drawn out and low, almost like a growl. Dumbledore, however, seemed unaware of the tone and smiled merrily at his colleague.  
  
"Good, good." He nodded once in a satisfied manor and turned back to the breakfast table. "Well then, Harry," he said. "I suspect that the library might do for you to meet?" Harry shrugged slightly. "Perfect. Oh, and Harry." The twinkle had definitely returned to his eyes now. "I thought you might wish to know - while I am in this building all goings on here leave Ministry jurisdiction completely. This means that you will be allowed to practice magic here, although I advise you to make absolutely certain of my presence before you attempt anything. I do not need to tell you the consequences that would arise if you cast a spell when I were elsewhere, I am sure."  
  
Harry shook his head immediately. He had already had far too many encounters with the Ministry connected with underage magic, and he had no desire to be expelled from Hogwarts this year. He had gotten off before, but he suspected that everyone in general would be much less sympathetic if he found himself in court for the second year in a row.  
  
However, he was somewhat relieved to know that he wouldn't have to go up against Snape completely defenceless. He had wondered how they expected him to have a magic lesson when he wasn't allowed to perform any magic and, as with the stinging hex the previous year, there was still the off chance that he might cast a charm without meaning to while his mind was blank.  
  
Feeling slightly more at ease Harry followed Snape out of the dining room and across the house to the library. Receiving no clues from the Professor he sat down in one of the small armchairs near the fire and looked up at the man.  
  
Who was staring pointedly at the fire. He stood for a moment, seeming to be lost in thought, and then he turned to Harry and spoke, his gaze boring down.  
  
"Before this begins," he said in a cruel, low voice, "I must make certain things clear to you that you apparently failed to grasp last year. Primarily I will point out that I have no desire to do this. There is no benefit for me whatsoever, and if Albus had not requested it personally I would never have agreed. In my own opinion you have no desire to work and no talent at what you are trying to achieve. I think that Albus is a fool to keep offering you unending chances." He paused. "But," he amended. "Perhaps I am not one to speak against his chances." He turned back to the fire.  
  
Harry realised quickly what he was thinking of, and almost said something, then bit his tongue and kept silent. Instead he tried to make his expression slightly mocking and waited for Snape to look at him.  
  
The Potions Master, however, appeared to once more find the fireplace absolutely fascinating.  
  
"Secondly," he continued, and his voice held a more bitter tone this time, "I have not forgotten why I put an end to your lessons last year."  
  
"Sir," Harry blurted out, half rising, but Snape whirled around suddenly, holding out an imperious hand, and he fell back into the chair.  
  
"Silence!" The word cracked like a whip and the air because hard somehow. The man stood motionless, frozen, staring at Harry with a blank expression that Harry almost envied, suddenly. He felt irritation rising as he found himself being examined as if he was a bug. "  
  
"You invaded my memory," Snape said finally, coldly. There seemed to be no warmth in him at all anymore, which was worse for Harry, because it left him with nothing to fight against. "Even you must by now realise the implications of a memory placed in a Penseive, and yet you violated that. I only hope," he finished with a sardonic bitterness, "that you at least managed to shatter some of your illusions."  
  
That was enough for Harry. He had expected some mention of the Pensieve incident; he could hardly hope not to, but the mention of his father mixed with the emotions that he hadn't let himself feel before to come out now. He stood abruptly and glared Snape.  
  
"I invaded your mind?" he exclaimed. "You were looking in mine once a week last year, and you didn't give me a chance to hide my memories!"  
  
Snape looked at him coldly for a moment. "Well, I will not need to make use of a Penseive again, will I?" he almost hissed, and Harry felt suddenly guilty, and then angry for feeling guilty. His face, he hoped, conveyed none of it. Regardless, Snape seemed not to have noticed. He glared at Harry.  
  
"Sit down, Potter," he commanded, and Harry did. Snape's voice hardened again, impossibly. "The field is even, though you have no right to expect it to be so. I do not owe you decency, Potter," he sneered, fixing obsidian eyes on Harry. "Nor respect, nor courtesy. I owe you a challenge; in that and that alone I have Albus my word. But that is all that you have the right to expect from me. Now." He spun away from the fire and stalked to the opposite end of the library. "At least try to clear your mind, Potter, and stand up, for Merlin's sake. You will be under attack in a moment. And I will know if you havn't practiced." The tone was ominous now.  
  
Harry got up quickly from the armchair and took his wand from his robes. He moved to an open area of the room, as far away from bookshelves as he could manage, and tried to think of spells that he could use to block Snape without getting a look into the other mind.  
  
Across the room Snape pointed his wand at Harry. "One," he said and Harry jumped to attention, a protestation half on his lips before he realised the futility. "Two . three. Legilimens."  
  
Harry was still trying to accept the lack of warning was torn between trying to empty his mind, although he was still slightly uncertain as to what that would do, and trying to pre-empt Snape's attack, and so in the end he did something of both. His wand was beginning to move up and his mouth had almost opened when the wave of memories struck, but with his mind more open he was no longer dwelling on what he feared. Instead found himself watching as Fred and George shrank Ron's sweater while half way on his head; Angelina and Katie Belle were chatting in the common room about boyfriends; Luna Lovegood politely informed him with a grave expression of the dangers of standing beneath mistletoe. It was actually more amusing than anything else.  
  
Then he felt something, like a light touch of a finger on his mind. It vanished for a moment, then reappeared, and Harry tried to push at it with a thought, having no idea how to go about it. At the same time he broke free of the string of memories and he saw Snape.  
  
"Maledictobsiste" Harry exclaimed, bringing his wand up finally. A stream of blue light shot from the tip to burst around Snape, who staggered and reached out a hand to the back of a chair nearby. He seemed on the verge of falling.  
  
"An interesting choice of spells," the man said, with a thoughtful expression on his face. "More effective than I might have suspected. But you need to stop using spells to stop me, Potter. You touched on it just now - use your mind, not your wand, if that's at all possible for you." The sneer was back. "Legilimens."  
  
With no warning whatsoever Harry was swept away before he could register what had happened, but again the memories were either dull or amusing rather than frightening. With the part of his mind that could still function Harry left his wand at his side and began to try and find the "hand" on his mind again. He was half way through listening to one of Lee Jordan's commentaries when he felt it - the fleeting ghostly impression of a thought not his own.  
  
He reached blindly for it, trying to find something he could grasp or push away, it was like trying to catch water in a net. Finally he broke from the main stream of memories until he could see Snape again, his mouth moving, imposed over the images in his mind. Suddenly, acting completely on impulse, he tried to imagine a black wall between Snape and his memories, where Ron was now falling off of his broom.  
  
"Enough."  
  
The word sounded loud, and the memories vanished leaving Harry staring once more at Snape and the library. The man was once again leaning slightly on the armchair.  
  
"Well," he said. "You appear to have managed to block off memories you fear -"  
  
"Unless you've just seen them all," Harry couldn't stop himself from injecting. He received a chilling glare.  
  
"I said enough," Snape snapped. "You've touched on something twice now. You must master it. You must also learn to cover your thoughts, feelings, and memories when you are in a normal state if you do not want to be read like an open book. I said before that eye contact plays a large part in Legimency, but it is not the only way that Masters can gain information. There are other ways to spot lies and deception, and that is one of the core reasons I am training you. I will not be so lenient from now on, Potter." Harry wondered briefly how Snape could possibly consider himself lenient. "I will be attempting to discern your emotions when you do not expect it, and I will know if you have practiced. This will mean work and as much as you detest the concept I hope that you will put in some effort. The outcome doesn't matter at all to me, after all."  
  
With that as his only farewell he swept out of the library in a swirl of black fabric. Harry stared at the doorway battling, despite what he had just been told, with conflicting emotions that wouldn't leave him. A large part of him was still furious with Snape - after all, he had been horribly unfair, given no warning, and he had the nerve to make Harry feel guilty, which was worse than anything else. However another, smaller part of him thought that perhaps there was a small chance that he'd done some thing right.  
  
Harry stood facing the door for perhaps a full minute, then pocketed his wand and took a step forwards to leave the library. He was stopped, however, by a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore said warmly. "If you could stay for a few moments I have something I would like to discuss with you, if I may?" Harry shrugged and went back over to his armchair. Dumbledore walked over and seated himself in one that faced away from the fireplace. Slowly and deliberately he steepled his fingers and touched them to his lips, and with the fire behind him he suddenly looked very mysterious and powerful.  
  
"Severus tells me that you have made immense progress," he said, and then amended the statement when Harry shot him a disbelieving look. "Well, rather, he tells me that you may stand a chance in a decade, perhaps, if there is someone there to guide you along the way. However, considering his preliminary remarks I was able to deduce your improvement."  
  
The anger rose up again in Harry, along with that sneaking suspicion. He had been improving, then. Why hadn't Snape told him, though? Would it have killed him to offer a compliment? Or even some sign that he wasn't horrible.  
  
"That is not why I wanted to speak with you," Dumbledore continued before resentment could set in. "However I thought I must convey my sincere good wishes. No, your improvement in Occlumency has merely suggested to me that the next stage was possible."  
  
Harry leaned forwards slightly, curious, but all that followed was a long pause. "The next stage of what?" he asked finally, when it seemed that perhaps Dumbledore had actually completed the thought.  
  
"Why, your mental development, of course." Dumbledore leaned forwards and stared at Harry intently. "You have not stopped having your dreams, despite your growing skill in the art of Occlumency. I had hoped that Professor Snape's teachings would put an end to your dreams," he sighed, "but you have managed to regain your distance with Voldemort, despite my fears, and good has come of it in the end. I have no fear for your safety in those dreams."  
  
Harry frowned, not quite certain how he was to react. Dumbledore smiled reassuringly, but then his expression turned more serious.  
  
"However," he continued, and Harry almost winced. Howevers didn't' tend to go well. "There are ways of teaching you how to control your dreams, to an extent, and in your case I believe it might be prudent. It is a skill called Dreamwalking. Actually, every witch or wizard could become a Dreamwalker if they had the will."  
  
Harry looked at Dumbledore, trying to see what the old man was thinking, but the light was behind him and his face was hidden in shadows.  
  
"Dreamwalking," he echoed. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"A trained Dreamwalker has more power in the dormant world than he - or she - has awake," he explained, still speaking slowly. "She - or he - is not bound by the limitations of normal dreams. A truly skilled Dreamwalker can even summon other dreamers into a dream of his - or her - own creation, but that level of skill takes countless years to master. The only wizard I know with abilities on that level is -"  
  
"Voldemort," Harry supplied.  
  
"Indeed. Even I cannot do something of that nature." Dumbledore regarded Harry gravely. "If you had no other connection to Voldemort he would be able to summon you, if he so chose, and it is there that the danger lies. You could not be unwilling, of course, for not even he can summon those who resist him completely, but in a dream one can often be confused."  
  
"Yeah," Harry said bitterly. Confused was one way of putting it, certainly. Tricked, mislead, used, taken advantage of, tortured -  
  
Dumbledore shook his head minutely.  
  
"This is not a time for blame," he said with finality. "Do not forget the past, of course, but you must use it as a lesson and a reminder. Do not let it hold you back."  
  
Harry sighed and nodded.  
  
"YOU cannot hope to master Dreamwalking in a matter of weeks," Dumbledore continued. "Even months or years would not be enough time, but the first stages are not hard to learn. If you wish, you can be taught to maintain awareness in dreams. This will prevent you from being summoned. It also gives you some control as to where you go - it will prevent you from being swept up. If you can dream a wand in with you, you may be able to perform magic. I'm not certain if that applies to everyone, or simply myself." He shrugged slightly and Harry saw something shine in his eyes suddenly. "My problem when I first began to learn was never dreaming the wand," he confessed. "Rather, I found it more difficult to convince the dogs that it wasn't a bone. There were always dogs." He sounded slightly bemused.  
  
Harry laughed.  
  
"Another aspect that you might find useful is that there is an ability intrinsic in even the most basic Dreamwalkers to sleep and wake as desired. I've found it useful to prevent needless tossing and turning at night."  
  
He paused for a moment to let Harry absorb all of the information, then paused, seeming to be expecting something.  
  
"So," Harry said eventually. "What do I need to do?"  
  
This seemed to be the right question. Dumbledore smiled gently.  
  
"Sleep," he said simply. "Your exercises will be in your dreams. But," he added, seeing a confused look appear on Harry's face, "I will of course provide you with some assistance initially."  
  
Dumbledore took out his wand and waved it once in a circle, whispering under his breath. There was a bright cascade of silver sparkles and suddenly a small glass cup fell into his other hand. He held it out to Harry.  
  
"Tap this twice with your wand," he instructed. Harry complied, and the cup began to glow a pale pink colour. When it faded the cup was half filled with a liquid of the same colour. Dumbledore nodded and tapped the cup himself once, vanishing the liquid, then set it down on a small table beside his chair.  
  
"Each night before you go to sleep tap the cup twice as you just did," he instructed. "It will fill with liquid as is just did, which will help you to bring clarity and control to your dreams. The amount in the cup will lessen each two days, accordingly so that you will not find any at all when term begins. After all," he added with a twinkle in his eyes, "it would hardly do for me to be supplying my students with drugs during the school year, would it?"  
  
Harry looked mistrustfully at the innocent-seeming glass cup on the table. "Is it safe?" he asked, aware that he might have just insulted the Headmaster.  
  
Rather than being offended, Dumbledore laughed merrily.  
  
"Beware of strangers bearing gifts," he said, and Harry wondered if and who he was quoting.  
  
"You did say you were giving me drugs," he replied slightly defensively.  
  
"That is true," Dumbledore conceded. "Still, many drugs are beneficial. This one in particular is brewed for me by Professor Snape, and I will personally attest to its benevolence. However, you are under no obligation to consume even a drop. It is for your own benefit that I offer it to you, and if you do not trust either my drugs or my Potions Master it is your decision.  
  
"No sir," Harry laughed, ignoring the temptation to insult Snape. "It's fine. Thank you."  
  
Dumbledore nodded and rose slowly to his feet.  
  
"I think, then," he said, "That I will leave you to your day and to your summer." With a smile he turned from Harry and walked around his chair to the fireplace. He took a handful of powder from an elaborate silver vase on the mantle and threw it into the flames, which crackled and turned a brilliant green.  
  
"Sweet dreams," he said as he stepped into the fire and vanished.  
  
Harry looked at the hearth for a moment, and then over at the little cup. "Homework already," he said with a wry laugh as he picked it up and pocketed it, then got up and left the library.  
  
~*~*~*~ 


	3. et ab integro vita incipit

And Life Begins Again  
  
et ab integro vita incipit  
  
It tasted rather like it looked; an airy combination of candy floss, chewing gum, salmon, and shoelaces, and on the whole the taste could have been worse. It was also remarkably potent. Harry was barely able to set down the cup before he felt a wave of fatigue sweep over him, and the cup had only contained a few drops.  
  
On the first night, when the glass had been completely full, Harry had fallen asleep instantly, and had found that not only was he fully aware that he was dreaming, he also had complete control over the dream. That control would disappear, Dumbledore had told him, and indeed it was true. On the second night, the amount of pink liquid had dropped slightly, and Harry had struggled to keep himself in control, to prevent himself from getting swept away with the "current" of the dream. And he could no longer fly.  
  
On the third night he consumed the same amount of the potion, and learned once again how to control the new world he found himself in. By the time he woke in the morning, he was once more the albeit flightless master of his dream. The next night the level in the cup had dropped once more, and by the time Harry adjusted he could no longer create plants.  
  
Thus the nights settled into a pattern. Dumbledore, or whoever filled the mysterious cup, always gave Harry two nights to adjust to the reduction of potion before dropping the quantity, and with each change Harry lost a part of his ability.  
  
Now, on the last night of summer holidays - and therefore of the potion, Harry drank the few drops that clung to the bottom of the glass and watched with mild amazement as this time the cup blurred for a moment and then vanished completely. His next thoughts were covered in a sleepy haze and he quickly lay down on the bed as his consciousness slipped away. When his awareness returned he found himself in a dream, and was painfully conscious that for the life of him he could do no more than walk around and, with intense concentration, teleport to another visible location in the dream. He could wake up when he wished, of course, and when he blinked twice the flagstones would glow neon and play a strange techno song, but Harry strongly suspected that he would lose the latter talent the next day, when he stopped taking the potion altogether.  
  
When the dream began to lose its interest Harry woke himself, and then sent himself back to sleep. The potion was still strong in his blood, and Harry had no difficulty maintaining his control, although he noticed quickly that he now had to blink three times to activate the flagstones, confirming his decision. By the end of the evening, although he retained his motor skills, he could no longer 'play the funky music', or however it went. The loss saddened him slightly.  
  
Finally Harry looked down at his watch, which strangely enough tended to be rather accurate whenever he managed to dream it, and saw that it was half- past nine. He woke himself with a yawn and got out of bed as the silver snakes on his headboard hissed greetings in his ear.  
  
One of the disadvantages of Dreamwalking, he reflected as he pulled on his clothes, was that if he tried to maintain control he always woke feeling drained and tired. Part of him wondered if he would ever be able to get a decent night's sleep again, for although Dumbledore had indicated that it was a distinct possibility, with Dumbledore one could never quite be sure.  
  
Harry spent the next twenty minutes completing his packing, shoving everything he could find into his chest. His skill at packing apparently had not increased, for although everything had fit nicely at one point, he found himself reduced to sitting on the trunk until he heard the locks click into place. He jammed on the safety catches, and then left it sitting in the corner where he would be able to find it later on while he went to breakfast.  
  
As on the first night, most of the members of the Order of the Phoenix were at the table when Harry came down, including Emmuline Vance, whom he hadn't seen since she had come to escort him at the beginning of his fifth year, and Elphias Dodge, who had also vanished since that day. They greeted him warmly before returning to the conversation they appeared to be having with Kinsley Shacklebolt. Harry caught words in disapproving tones about "Diggle and his hat," and maintained his straight face with some difficulty.  
  
Ron and Hermione had saved a seat for him with Fred, George, and Bill, Charlie having left two days previously to attend to his dragons. The five of them appeared to be engaged in a lively conversation, which the rest of the table was studiously ignoring.  
  
".officially opening on Tuesday," Fred was saying loudly as Harry sat down. He flashed him a grin before continuing. "But, you know, we'll probably end up delivering as of Monday, what with so many orders and all."  
  
Bill was slowly shaking his head in amazement.  
  
"I don't know how you do it," he confessed with a wry smile. "Really, I mean . you didn't even finish school!"  
  
Fred and George exchanged looks of triumph. At exactly the same moment, Mrs. Weasley huffed very loudly at the other end of the table.  
  
"We've been saying it all along, haven't we?" George pointed out. "School . it doesn't matter. When you've got it you've got it, and no NEWTs are going to change anything."  
  
"Anyways," Fred added. "We've both got our OWLs in Muggle Studies, so no matter what else happens we can always fall back on Muggle Relations."  
  
Hermione instantly shot Harry a superior look. Harry raised one eyebrow, trying his hardest to convey the expression of indifference and superiority that everyone else seemed to have mastered. Whether or not it worked, Hermione turned her attention to Ron.  
  
"But it'll never come to that," George finished off with a dramatic flourish.  
  
In what appeared to be an attempt to ignore Hermione, Ron leaned forwards on his elbows.  
  
"So," he said. "Do we get any discounts for being fellow Weasleys?" Down the table, Ginny stopped talking to Mundungus and echoed her agreement.  
  
Fred and George looked at each other and grinned wickedly.  
  
"A'course not!" George exclaimed. "You pay extra."  
  
"For hindering us on the path to true comedic excellence." Fred beamed.  
  
Ginny's expression turned suddenly to mirror their own, and she pointed an accusatory fork at her brothers. "But without the trials and tribulations of family life you would have never had to resort to practical jokes," she protested fervently. "Why, without us you might both have gone into Arithmancical Finances!"  
  
Everyone shuddered, except for Hermione, who looked torn between being offended and amused. She took a defensive bite of scrambled eggs. At the other end of the table, Mrs. Weasley looked wistful.  
  
Suddenly Mr. Weasley rose from his seat at the end of the table. "You know, we had better hurry up," he called down. "The express leaves at eleven, and - Merlin, it's already ten, and Ron, are you packed yet?"  
  
"Yea-no," Ron replied, shoving a forkful of sausage into his mouth and swallowing quickly. "I'll go do that now, why don't I?"  
  
"Brilliant plan." Hermione rolled her eyes. She looked appealingly over at Harry, Muggle Studies apparently forgotten. "You're packed too, aren't you? Ginny packed this morning, and I've been ready for ages."  
  
"Yeah," Harry said. "I did it a little while ago."  
  
"Oh, good." She looked very relieved.  
  
Harry spent the next half-hour talking with Hermione - or, rather, listening as she talked very quickly about all of the courses she planned to take, all the homework she expected to have, and how the introduction of the new Order teachers would impact the pedagogy of the school. He had initially tried to enter the conversation, but discovered early on that she didn't actually notice whether or not he spoke. It was easier in the long run to keep quiet, inserting appreciative nods and murmurs of agreement.  
  
Eventually Ron came rushing down the stairs, a piece of toast still hanging out of his mouth. Harry and Hermione got up from the breakfast table, followed by the rest of the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley instantly erupted in a burst of energy, and her wooden spoon appeared in her hand. She whirled it around, shouting out orders as she pointed.  
  
"Fred, George, be dears and get Harry's trunk, will you? And Hermione's, of course. Bill, could you see to Ginny? And make sure that she hasn't forgotten her - Ginny! Of course I'm not embarrassing you, dear. He won't really be going through your trunk, anyway. Just - all right, never mind. FRED! GEORGE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING STILL STANDING THERE? Shoo! Ah, Harry, dear, I think that was your trunk that just came sailing down the stairs? You should move it, or it'll crash with Hermione's, and what a mess THAT would be. Oh, and Arthur! There you are. Is everything ready?"  
  
Mr. Weasley, who had wisely chosen to stand inconspicuously at the far edge of the room, straightened quickly.  
  
"Yes, dear," he replied. "There are two cars waiting out front, as soon as we're ready for them."  
  
"Well then?" Mrs. Weasley raised her arms in exasperation. "What are we waiting for? The train leaves in just under a half hour, doesn't it? We can't have them being late." She cast a fond look at the children. "Come, come, we have no time to waste. Children in the first car, is it?"  
  
Mr. Weasley nodded silently. He crossed the hall and opened the front door, beckoning.  
  
"All trunks and such should go in first," he said. "Stand away, if you would? I wouldn't want to summon any of you by accident. Perfect. Now, accio."  
  
With a flick of his wrist, all of the trunks and bags suddenly lifted off of the ground and sped towards the man. He stood his ground as they approached him, and then stepped back at the last moment, redirecting the luggage with a wave of his wand. They soared through the open door and vanished with a faint *pop*. Harry blinked.  
  
"All right," Mr. Weasley was saying. "Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, come on, let's go. And Bill? Would you come with them? I think it should be safe, but you never know." Bill nodded with a smile and walked over to the door. "Come on," Mr. Weasley beckoned. "Just go through the door."  
  
Shrugging, the four of them approached the front door. When he looked out, however, Harry could no longer see the street in front of the house. Instead, the space had become dark, and slightly musty. Hermione, standing ahead of him, hesitated slightly, but Mr. Weasley gave her a reassuring smile and she swallowed and stepped through the doorway. Again the soft popping noise echoed, and before he could consider the implications of such, Harry followed Hermione through the door.  
  
In the manner of all magical passages, everything became rather foggy and unclear, and then suddenly Harry found himself landing unceremoniously - on the seat of an extremely spacious car. Beside him, Hermione was struggling to do up the seatbelt, which kept trying to slip into the plush upholstery. Harry righted himself and did the same. There were two other seats to his left, he noticed, and the car door was open, revealing a familiar musty blackness. Through the door he could hear voices.  
  
"No, Ginny, not you next. Go on, Bill." The *pop* again, and then Bill came flying headfirst through the open door, landing directly beside Harry. Seconds later Ron followed, and then the door closed.  
  
"What about Ginny?" Hermione asked Bill, who was now seated properly and trying to help Ron. "Wasn't she supposed to come with us?"  
  
Bill nodded, digging into the cushioning for the seatbelt.  
  
"She's sitting up front with Dad," he answered distractedly, glaring at the silver buckle. "Bloody contraption, no good sense." Harry laughed.  
  
Indeed, almost instantly the passenger-side door opened and Ginny appeared. She managed to remain poised, and looked back at Ron with the cheeky grin that was the trademark of the Weasley family. He glared at her.  
  
On the other side, Mr. Weasley stuck his head in.  
  
"Everyone all set?" he asked. "Not missing anything?" There was a collective murmur of assent, and he nodded happily. "Good," he said. The rest of his body followed his head, and then he pulled the door of the car shut. "If that's it, then, I think I should be able to get this started." He touched the steering wheel of the car with his wand and muttered something. Suddenly the front windshield, which had been a dull black before, turned clear, revealing a street filled with houses. Behind, Harry could now see another car.  
  
Mr. Weasley turned around with a conspiratorial wink.  
  
"It took a while," he said in a low voice, "but I finally got the Ministry to let me use one of their special cars." He waved a hand around the interior of the vehicle, indicating many knobs that Harry did not normally see in an automobile. "It's not much, certainly not compared with the old Ford, but it's still something, isn't it?"  
  
Bill chuckled. "Someday you'll get in trouble, you know," he said. His father grinned. He touched his wand to the ignition and the car rumbled to a start.  
  
"Let's be off then," he said cheerfully, as the vehicle began to move.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Getting onto the Hogwarts Express had actually been more simple than Harry had anticipated. Mrs. Weasley had offered to remain at home to look after Grimmauld place, the two Ministry cars had pulled up to Kings Cross station at seven minutes before eleven, which considerably reduced the number of goodbyes. In fact, for some reason having to do with a varied magical signature and barrier-control mechanisms, all of the Order members save Moody and the three teaching professors remained in the car, waving cheerfully from the windows and wishing him the best of luck this next year.  
  
There were no wizards on the Muggle platform so Harry, along with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, loaded their trunks onto carts and sped through the magical barrier, relieved to see the scarlet engine waiting patiently for them to arrive. The platform manager, a balding man with a garish orange uniform, took their carts with a smile and a wave of his wand.  
  
"Well, we're not late, then," Ginny observed in a satisfied tone. Hermione gave her a look of pure horror. "Not -" she added quickly, "that there was any chance of it, of course. Just . pointing out a fact. Stop glaring at me!"  
  
Hermione sniffed and turned away, stopping just before the door of the train. She bounced slightly, beckoning to Ron.  
  
"Come on," she called. "We're still prefects, remember? We have to meet with Professor Snape about our duties."  
  
Ron, standing with his father and Bill, turned and gave a loud groan.  
  
"I'd been trying to forget that," he complained. "Why does it have to be Snape, of all people? Why not . someone else?"  
  
Hermione shrugged slightly. "It just isn't, I guess. Maybe he's the best one qualified? Who knows. But, he definitely won't be happy if we're late. And if the train leaves without us, you won't be happy either."  
  
"I don't know," Ron protested, coming up to join her. "I could probably get used to it if I really needed to." Hermione stared at him pointedly and he coloured. "All right, fine. Bye, Dad!"  
  
The two of them waved quickly and disappeared into the Hogwarts Express.  
  
Harry looked over at Lupin. He was talking quietly to Hestia and Mundungus, and appeared to be gathering his bags together. The other two also picked up their belongings, and together they began to walk down the platform.  
  
"The teacher's car is this way," Hestia explained. "I'll see the two of you soon, of course, dears." She smiled warmly at Mr. Weasley and Moody. "Arthur, Alistair, I'll let you both know how this new life suits as soon as I've settled in, and I'm sure I'll see you soon."  
  
It appeared that blushing was a family trait, Harry noted, as the tips of Mr. Weasley's ears turned a very faint shade of red. Beside him, Ginny giggled.  
  
"Dad," she exclaimed. Her father coughed awkwardly.  
  
"Virginia, Harry," he said, trying to regain his dignity. "I think you should get on the train now, it's bound to be leaving soon, and Hermione did make a good point. I'll keep in touch with both of you." He smiled. "Have a wonderful year . and do be safe."  
  
To his left, Moody took a large step forwards. His magical eye spun around feverishly in his head.  
  
"Have a great time," he said gruffly. "And remember, you can never be too careful. These are dangerous times, and even Hogwarts isn't perfectly safe. I'm sure you're smart enough to understand that, both of you. So, you look out for the younger ones. And the older ones too. And if you ever have any problems, well just talk to Remus or Hestia. Or Dung. And owl us if anything comes up. I've got your words?"  
  
He looked at them suspiciously, and for an instant the electric blue orb stopped spinning, fixing itself directly on Harry, who swallowed nervously.  
  
"Yeah," he replied. "Of course. Thanks for everything, Mr. Weasley."  
  
With that he turned away and boarded the steps to the Hogwarts Express.  
  
~*~*~  
  
"Harry!" a voice called as he walked by a compartment. Ginny had abandoned him earlier for a group of the Gryffindor girls, and Harry had been mildly afraid that he'd end up spending the duration of the ride with the Third-  
Year Slytherins. He smiled in relief when the door slid open and Dean  
beckoned to him.  
  
He was there, along with Seamus, Neville, and Colin, who was sliding over to make room on the seat. Harry fell into the space as the door closed behind him. He looked around the compartment.  
  
"What about Ron and Hermione?" he asked. The others looked mildly apologetic, but Seamus grinned.  
  
"With their duties as prefects they'll be busy for most of the trip anyways," he said. "At any rate, we did the best we could. Ron could probably fit in here, and Hermione can sit with the girls just this once."  
  
Colin shuddered.  
  
"The girls," he repeated. The others grinned.  
  
"Well, she is a girl, isn't she?" Seamus replied. "I mean, she shares a dorm with them, doesn't she? She'll survive."  
  
Harry nudged Colin to the side slightly, trying to get the door hinge away from his shoulder.  
  
"So," he said, trying to break the silence that came up, "what did you guys do over the summer?"  
  
Instantly Dean beamed, and Seamus gave a huge grin. Even Neville seemed to cheer himself slightly, although Colin frowned.  
  
"Oh, it was brilliant," Dean exclaimed. "My Mum decided that she wanted to learn more about Magic, so we took rooms in the Leaky Cauldron for two weeks. She pretended to be a squib - and did you know that Muggles can actually ride on broomsticks?" Harry sat up, intrigued. Dean nodded. "Yeah," he continued. "Apparently all of the magic's already built into the broom, so anybody can use them. Of course it works better if you're a Wizard, because you can interact with the broom, but it was so cool!"  
  
Instantly, the image of the Dursleys on broomsticks came into Harry's head. He shuddered at the thought of Dudley playing Quidditch with Uncle Vernon and pushed it aside, tuning back into what Dean was saying.  
  
"Then," the black boy was saying, "she and my Dad had to go off to the States on a business trip, so I spent the rest of the summer with Seamus. His dad's a Muggle!"  
  
"What was he like?" Neville asked. "You never talk about him, Seamus."  
  
Seamus ducked his head slightly.  
  
"Well, he kind of stays in the background," he said. "Me Mum can get ... well, forceful, sometimes, especially about Magic, and he loves her, so he just goes along with what she says most of the time."  
  
"He's really cool, though," Dean added. "I mean, he's a complete Muggle, and he has no problem with living with a witch. That doesn't happen very often. And he's nice."  
  
Slowly the conversation died. Neville, it seemed, had actually managed to convince his Gran that he was worth something over the summer, although he grew pink and stuttered when Colin had asked him what he'd done. However, regardless of the actual events, he held his head a little higher, and Harry thought that this year might go better for him.  
  
Colin, on the other hand, was now on the verge of giving up photography forever, and while on one hand Harry was utterly relieved, the decent part of him realised that this probably was not the best thing for the younger Gryffindor. The problem, in the end, was something that everyone had seen coming, whether or not they admitted it. Colin's father was apparently not the most organised man in the world, and had accidentally shown his neighbour the wrong picture early in the summer. The result had the neighbour screaming about 'moving pictures', and Ministry Obliviators had to come in to correct the situation.  
  
Still, Harry reflected, no one was blamed, and perhaps Colin would see sense on his own. Or perhaps not.  
  
Eventually, everyone in the compartment had picked up some sort of book or magazine, and the scenery seemed to fly by as the light grew gradually dimmer, until suddenly the entire compartment was lit with the bright golden light that emanated from globes hanging from the ceiling. At that precise moment, the door slid open and the trolley witch stuck her head through.  
  
"Anything I can get you, dears?" she asked in a cheery voice. The trolley she pushed seemed to be a bit emptier than it had been on previous years. "Oh, but you mustn't get the Long-Lasting Liquorice, there simply isn't time anymore.  
  
After final consideration, Harry shook his head. Neville ordered pumpkin cakes, and Colin was immediately intrigued by a new item that had appeared this year - Chocolate Salamanders. He bought five, and unwrapped the package eagerly.  
  
A long, brown salamander immediately scurried out from the box. Colin snatched it back again and bit of its head, immobilising it, before looking in the box again.  
  
"What're you looking for?" Dean asked curiously. Colin continued to look for a moment, then held up a small card with a grin of triumph.  
  
"I heard the cards for this are brilliant," he replied, his mouth full of chocolate. "Here, take a look." He passed the card across.  
  
Dean took the scrap of shiny paper and examined it for a moment. His eyebrows came together sharply in a frown, and he looked up at Colin.  
  
"Bulvar the Brutal," he said in a flat voice. "Troll cards?"  
  
Colin beamed. "Well, Famous Wizards are already taken, aren't they? So they had to do something. Here, give it back."  
  
Dean hurriedly passed the card back and shuddered slightly, with a small grin. Colin didn't appear to notice. He began opening up the other packages, decapitating his lizards and leaving the bodies in a little pile in front of him as he went in search of the cards. It looked rather morbid, actually, Harry reflected.  
  
"Isn't this lovely," a voice drawled suddenly. Harry looked up sharply to see Malfoy standing in the doorway, with Crabbe and Goyle behind him, filling up the passageway. The familiar cruel gleam was in Malfoy's eyes. "The only way it would be more perfect would be if it were the Weasel, but we can't have everything, now can we?"  
  
"No, you certainly can't," Dean shot out suddenly.  
  
"Pity you chose wealth and evil and left out brains and friends," Harry added with a smirk. He looked critically at Crabbe and Goyle. "Well, unless you count apes, I suppose. And you certainly have enough of those."  
  
A strange look crossed Malfoy's face, suddenly, a mix of distaste and something else, before reverting to his typical scornful expression.  
  
"What would you know?" he asked. "Hanging out with gutter rats and leprechauns?" he gestured to Neville and Colin. "Not to mention the toad and the shutter-bug. Hardly one to lecture me on human companions."  
  
He seemed to be warming to the topic. Harry felt himself growing bored, and let it show on his face. Malfoy glared.  
  
"And then there's the Mudblood," he continued. Much to his apparent surprise, Harry chuckled.  
  
Behind him, it sounded as if Neville was struggling to remain still, which was to his benefit. Confidence or no, he was still no match for Crabbe and Goyle. Harry kept his attention on Malfoy.  
  
"Is that all you can do?" he taunted. "Insult my friends? You haven't even said a word about me yet, which is out of style. Don't you want to insult my glasses? Or my parents? Go right ahead. But, you might want to know - that is a teacher behind you."  
  
Malfoy spun around quickly, to find himself staring face to face with Hestia Jones, who stood with her arms crossed, index finger tapping. Malfoy swallowed quickly.  
  
"Professor ... Jones?" he asked. Hestia nodded, one eyebrow raised in a motion that looked startlingly like Malfoy's usual sneer.  
  
"Indeed, Mr. Malfoy," she replied. "Your memory is as good as it ever was, I see. I trust that will extend to my class as well."  
  
"Of .. course, Professor," Malfoy replied. Briskly he turned to Crabbe and Goyle, who stood behind him, staring stupidly at the walls.  
  
"Come on," he ordered. "Let's get out of here."  
  
Harry watched with amazement as the three Slytherins turned and walked away down the train and into the connecting car. He looked over at Hestia, who gave him a small smile, before turning and leaving in the opposite direction.  
  
"What just happened?" Seamus asked. Harry looked at him and shrugged. "He didn't even sneer at her or anything!"  
  
"Of course not."  
  
The quiet reply came from Neville, squashed between Colin and the window. He looked mildly embarrassed.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, he wouldn't be ... Malfoy ... to anyone he respects. You know, how he's always polite to Snape, and even the Bloody Baron."  
  
"Yeah," Colin interrupted with his classic exuberance, "but why does he respect her? He's never seen her before."  
  
"Yes he has," Neville answered quietly. "She was a Slytherin. My Gran knew her parents when she was first in Hogwarts. And she was friends with Narcissa Black, before she married Lucius. Narcissa made her an unofficial godmother to Draco, but Lucius didn't approve. And she never liked him. Still, it makes sense that Draco would respect her."  
  
Seamus chuckled.  
  
"Doesn't look like she likes him too much," he said gleefully. "You know, that would really suck for him. Having to respect someone who obviously dislikes him."  
  
Dean gave him a mildly reproachful look, but couldn't stop the small smile that crept across his face. Seamus grinned at him.  
  
The conversation soon turned away from Malfoy's unofficial godmother, to the entire compartment grilling Harry as to who the new teachers would be, and what they were like, and what they were teaching, and eventually Harry had to plead fatigue and diverted to talk to Quidditch, where he could sit quietly, inserting only a few comments.  
  
It was perhaps an hour later that Hermione and Ron both appeared in the doorway, dressed in their robes, badges gleaming, to announce that if they expected to be allowed into Hogwarts they'd better all get changed, because the train was due to reach Hogsmeade in approximately seven minutes.  
  
~*~*~  
  
The carriages that took the older students to the castle were still pulled by the magnificent Thestrals Harry had seen last year, he noted with a sad smile. His gaze found Neville's, and they both realised that they had another death to add to their list, but that was beyond the point now. They found Hermione and Ron quickly enough, spared from their duties as Prefects for the moment. Together in the carriage the three talked, Neville sharing information about his summer and listening eagerly as Harry sat silent, having heard it all before.  
  
Soon enough they had made their way up the winding way to the castle, and found themselves standing once again in front of the gigantic doors to the great hall. They opened for the group of students ahead of them, and the four hurried in behind before they slid gently shut again. Professor McGonagall stood on the stairway to the left, waiting for the First Years to come though for their briefing, and Harry gave her a small smile as he passed. He was shocked to see her return it, nodding her head before looking away. Some things do change, Harry reflected as he followed Hermione and Ron into the Great Hall. Neville stayed back, beside him, and looked quiet and reflective.  
  
They made their way quickly over to the Gryffindor table and sat down beside Seamus, Dean, and Colin, who appeared to have found seats before the Hall began to get crowded. They talked about trivialities as seats opposite and around them began to be filled with excited faces. Ten minutes later, a Second-Year to Harry's left jumped with surprise, overturning an empty golden goblet, and pointed to the seat opposite her.  
  
The pale man who had suddenly appeared smiled warmly and extended a translucent hand.  
  
"Dreadfully sorry, my dear Kaitlyn," he said in a warm voice. "It's been a long summer without anyone alive to even notice when and where I come and go. I'll be certain to be more careful next time."  
  
Kaitlyn smiled nervously, and then relaxed and nodded. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington grinned back at her and adjusted his ruffle before turning to Harry.  
  
"Harry, my boy," he said. "It's been far too long. You've grown, haven't you? And how were you kept over the summer? It's been horrid without you here."  
  
Harry coughed nervously.  
  
"I've been fine," he answered. "I mean . everything's pretty much the same, except . well," he paused, unsure how to continue. Sir Nick peered at him anxiously for a moment.  
  
"So . you're all right about what happened last year, then?" he prompted. "I know it's hard, sometimes, but-"  
  
Harry suddenly became painfully aware of the fact that many eyes were turning towards him. He blocked out the uncomfortable sensation of being watched and turned one of his most sincere smiles on Nick, allowing some of his pain to show through.  
  
"Really," he insisted. "I'm all right. There's no point in dwelling on the past."  
  
"Precisely, my boy," Nick agreed heartily. "I'm so glad you can see reason. Not that I wouldn't expect that from you, of course. It's just that . erm, nevermind."  
  
Harry nodded. Beside him, he heard Ron sigh, and turned to see him staring longingly at the empty golden plate in front of him. He chuckled. Hermione, seated opposite them, gave Ron an exasperated glare.  
  
"Is that all you can think about?" she asked, clicking her tongue. "This is the only time in the year that we get to see a Sorting, and you're stuck in your stomach. You'd think with the number you've missed over the years you'd be excited to see it for once."  
  
Ron shrugged.  
  
"I would, if I could have eaten something on the train to hold me over." He turned appealingly to Harry. "We didn't even get a snack. Snape had us patrolling the train for the whole trip, and we didn't get any sort of break, did we? Malfoy and Zabini got to sit and chat with their cronies, but not us."  
  
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "They paid us a visit."  
  
Ron glowered.  
  
" 'Using time wisely' my arse," he fumed. "I'll show them how I'd use my time wisely."  
  
"Oh, don't bother," Hermione interjected quickly. "You'd only end up getting in trouble from Snape, you know how bad he is. And anyway, look. The First Years are coming in. Get your mind off your stomach and watch!"  
  
They turned to look at the doors to the Great Hall, which had just swung open to reveal McGonagall and Hagrid leading a troop of students to the open space. They looked smaller this year than they had before, Harry noticed, and more afraid. He watched as they gathered in a cluster before McGonagall, who had moved over to the single stool placed in the centre of the opening. From behind the stool she took a tattered looking hat, and set it down so that the rip in the brim was clearly visible.  
  
"Now," she said crisply. "I have explained to you all what will happen. If there are no questions, I believe we can proceed with the Sorting. But first," she paused, and all eyes turned from her to the hat on the stool. It sat motionless for a moment, and then the rip by the brim opened and the hat began to sing.  
  
"Welcome, welcome, colleagues all, and children young and old, New students to discover now, if you be sly or bold, Or smart or true, well never fear, your heads will show the way, And I'll sort you into Houses, as I always do this day.  
  
We all be long in Houses, here - well, all of you but me, And I'm a hat, so really I've no need for family; But you all need your mentors, or those little ones to show What's right and wrong; you all pitch in and help each other grow.  
  
Each House, of course, is different, and it's my job to find The qualities of one of them from deep inside your mind. For Houses sort by temperament, and strengths and values dear, And also show your weaknesses and help you face your fear.  
  
In Gryffindors their courage is as famous as their might, With hearts of gold and lions' will they strive for what is right. But Gryffindors be warned, the world is more than black and white - You must learn to see the shades of grey before you rush to fight.  
  
The Slytherins are cunning so that some might think them cruel. Their sly ideals will often strive to circumvent a rule. Slytherins remember, though, that power can entwine; Dark and evil aren't the same, so never cross that line.  
  
Ravenclaw's intelligence is what sets them apart, They value wit and knowledge, and pursue it full of heart. Ravenclaws, however, must be taught to curb their pride; Their wit does not imply a lacking on the other side.  
  
The Hufflepuffs have many virtues, dedication one, They've loyalty and skills at working hard and having fun. But Hufflepuffs must sometimes be told to check their fear, And strangers bearing gifts and smiles don't always hold you dear.  
  
A warning now I send to you, to students young and old: Be careful of your prejudice, for as the story's told, When differences were seen as wrong and friendship turned to strife, The tale of Hogwarts' founders sadly closed with Helga's life.  
  
But, now's a time for merriment, so don't dwell in the past, Simply learn so you don't make the same mistakes as happened last. You've all got years ahead of you, and this one soonest yet, With trials and hardships now in store, and wondrous things I'll bet.  
  
So when you're name is called and you come up to take the stand, Don't be afraid, I never bite. I've got you well in hand, Except of course, I really don't, but even so you win; I'll sort you true, so never fear, and let the fun begin!"  
  
The Hall was silent for a moment, and then whispers began to run wild around the tables. On Harry's left, Ron was fuming.  
  
"Shades of grey?" he stuttered. "Shades of grey? I can see plenty of shades! And Malfoy's an evil one. That's all there is to it." The other Gryffindors seemed to agree, and around him Harry could see people protesting that they were open minded.  
  
The Hufflepuffs seemed worried, looking at each other with hints of fear in their eyes. The Ravenclaws had their eyes fixed instead on the other Houses, evaluating, or so it seemed. Many looked sceptical, and Harry overheard one girl protest in a high voice,  
  
"But we're here because we're smarter, aren't we?"  
  
The Grey Lady, whose appearance was rare enough to be noticed by almost everyone, leaned over to table to rest translucent hands on the wood, speaking softly into the girl's ear, but Harry couldn't tell whether she was reinforcing the belief or disputing it.  
  
The only table silent was the Slytherin table. They all sat, seeming utterly unaffected by the controversial song. If anything, they seemed smug. Malfoy turned his head once and, catching Harry's eye, gave him a small smirk before turning back to his House.  
  
At the Head Table, Professor Dumbledore straightened in his chair. He picked up his wand from where it rested beside his plate and touched it twice to his crystal goblet. The chime rang throughout the hall, and slowly the conversation at the House tables died down. Professor McGonagall shot the Headmaster a grateful look and cleared her throat.  
  
"Thank you, everyone," she said in a clear voice. "That will be enough idle chatter, if you please. You will have more than enough time for that in your common rooms after the meal is over. At this point, you may have noticed, it has not even begun, and some people appear to be anxious." She gave a pointed look to Ron, whose ears began to turn a faint shade of pink. McGonagall turned back to the students, and pulled a long sheet of parchment from her robes.  
  
"Now," she continued. "When I call out your name, you will sit down on the stool and place the hat on your head. When your house is called, you will put the hat back onto the stool and go and join your housemates. Is that clear?" There was a nervous silence. Professor McGonagall nodded. "Good. Then, if I can have Atchet, Danielle!"  
  
A tall girl with straight black hair stepped forwards. She approached the stool slowly and sat down as if she thought it would collapse underneath her. Finally, she put the hat on her head and sat nervously for a moment. Very slowly the rip in the brim opened, and then the voice was once again echoing through the hall.  
  
"GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
The girl got up and placed the hat back on the stool, then ran quickly over to an empty seat at the Gryffindor table. Nearly Headless Nick beamed.  
  
"The first one of the year is a Gryffindor," he stated. "That's always a good sign. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and introduce myself."  
  
With that he floated gracefully backwards through his chair and drifted down the table to where Danielle, along with three other new Gryffindors, were gathered. He made and extravagant bow and began to speak with large hand motions. Hermione giggled.  
  
"Everett, Michael!"  
  
"HUFFLEPUFF!"  
  
"Fresco, Veronica!"  
  
"SLYTHERIN!"  
  
The Slytherin table grinned, and students slid over to make room for the girl. Many Gryffindors groaned. The pattern continued, nervous children approaching the stool and disappearing under the ancient headpiece, emerging with shaky grins to sit with their new Houses. Finally,  
  
"Zachrios, Robin," became a Hufflepuff, and the hat fell silent.  
  
Slowly, at the Staff Table, the Headmaster rose. He once again touched his wand to his goblet, and waited patiently as conversation died. When utter silence filled the Hall, he spoke.  
  
"Welcome, my new students," he said clearly. "and a thanks to my older ones. You have all undoubtedly been waiting for a chance to eat something, and so I will put my speech on pause until a more opportune time, shall I?"  
  
The great hall erupted into cheers. Dumbledore sat down slowly as platters of meat and vegetables, puddings and pies, appeared on the five long tables. Harry pulled a plate of roasted chicken towards him and selected a drumstick, helping himself to potatoes and vegetables. Around him, the conversation had risen once more.  
  
"But, why would the Hat be so mean this time?" Neville was asking those around him. Further down the table, Nearly Headless Nick perked up, and drifted back to sit between Parvati Patil and Sarah Armstrong, another girl in Harry's year.  
  
"Well," he said eagerly, "it did try to give a warning last year. But we didn't listen very well, now did we? It wouldn't have done any harm to focus on working together as a school, and saying 'to hell with it' to house rivalries. Except for sports, of course. But no, the hatred between the houses is as strong as ever, and so I suppose the Hat had to take more drastic means of action.  
  
"But," Ron objected, "we can't just be all chummy with the Slytherins. They're . well, evil! And we're good. That's why we're Gryffindors, isn't it?"  
  
"So you're saying, then, that one quarter of the wizarding world should be sent to Azkaban simply because of what house they were placed in as a child?" Sir Nick asked calmly, giving Ron a critical look. "And all Hufflepuffs are unworthy of doing anything because they're too afraid? I would very much like to hear you say that to Ernie Macmillan, or Zacharias Smith. I'm certain that they would be thrilled to find out that they are cowards.  
  
"And don't you do dear Hermione a disservice by assuming that only Ravenclaws are intelligent?"  
  
Ron quickly swallowed a mouthful very quickly and held up his hands.  
  
"All right!" he exclaimed. "All right, I'm sorry. I've just never had any reason to trust a Slytherin, and I don't know anyone else who has. That's not exactly a great track record, is it?"  
  
Sir Nick shrugged slightly.  
  
"I heard something along the same lines in the beginning," he said grimly. "Godric never did trust Salazar, you know. He accepted him because of Helga and Rowena, but after Helga died and Rowena gave up -"  
  
"Helga died?" Seamus gasped. His eyebrows shot up towards the brilliant sapphire sky shown through the ceiling of the Great Hall. "Helga Hufflepuff?"  
  
"Steady on," Dean said quickly, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't faint on us."  
  
Seamus shot him a withering glare.  
  
"I'm not going to faint," he retorted. Anything else he might have said was cut off abruptly as he took a large bite of potato and exploded in a fit of coughing.  
  
"So much better." Dean rolled his eyes and slapped him sharply on the back. Hermione looked horrified.  
  
"Don't hit him, Dean," she exclaimed. "Like as not you'll just force it down his throat and then where would we be? Here, give him this."  
  
She filled a goblet with pumpkin juice and passed it across the table.  
  
"But, how can he drink if his throat's stuck?" Ron asked. Hermione shot him a withering glare and then turned away from him.  
  
"The liquid will break up the potato," she exclaimed, attention focussed on Seamus, who was now grinning sheepishly. "It'll help to clear away the problem."  
  
Ron waved a hand at her.  
  
"Right," he shrugged. "What was that Sir Nick just said?"  
  
The ghost turned around and opened his mouth, and then, suddenly, a silvery sound filled the Great Hall and all conversation died. Food vanished from the plates and Harry turned back to the Staff Table, where Professor Dumbledore had risen once more.  
  
"It gives me great joy to greet you all," he said warmly. "I realise that you must all be anxious to return to your dorms, but there are things that must be addressed beforehand. Now that we have all of our new students settled in," the Headmaster continued, "it is my pleasure to introduce three new staff members today. Teaching Defence against the Dark Arts, in replacement of Professor Umbrage, is Professor Hestia Jones."  
  
Professor Jones stood in a fluid motion and smiled warmly. She gave a little wave and then sat down once more.  
  
"As I am sure you are all aware, Professor Salen has long reached retirement age, and has finally chosen to take what is rightfully hers. Consequentially, Professor Fletcher will be taking her place teaching Magical Wards and Protections. As well, we are pleased to welcome back Professor Lupin, who will be teaching Muggle Studies."  
  
A gasp ran around the room. At the Slytherin table, Malfoy looked shocked. Harry felt a certain satisfaction in knowing more than his rival. He sent the blond a smug grin and turned back to Dumbledore.  
  
"Of course, there now follows the inevitable announcements," he said with a grin, "so I do hope you bear with me. First, Mister Filch has asked me to remind you that the list of forbidden objects is still posted outside of his office. It has grown considerably over the summer to include Portable Swamps and Glowing Gobbers, so I suggest that even older students look at it in the next few days. We would hardly want you to accidentally use something you aren't supposed to, after all."  
  
Students chuckled, and Harry saw Ginny shoot a worried glance across the table to another younger girl. It seemed that the Weasley legacy would continue he thought, watching her.  
  
"As a second note, I must state for all of you that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to all students unless accompanied by a staff member. There are no exceptions to this rule, and punishment will not be light. There is a reason for this, of course, once that I will tell you, because I do not believe in keeping people ignorant. Minister Fudge would have me shield you from the truth, for fear of causing trauma, but I do not think that this will help you. "  
  
He looked suddenly serious, and the subtle shifting of movement and quiet whispers died instantly.  
  
"There are rumours that will circulate, and they will continue to spread if the truth is not addressed. You may have heard stories over the summer as to the return of Lord Voldemort." A shudder ran through the Hall. "I will not say that they are all true, but this is; over the summer a small, Muggle town was destroyed. We have reason to believe that Lord Voldemort will make his return. It is for this reason that we request that you do not leave the school grounds at any point, save on Hogsmeade weekends. Students are also not permitted to wander the grounds after dark unless accompanied by a teacher, will only be allowed outside after sunrise although, I can see no reason for anyone to be out even that early."  
  
He paused and looked out at the sea of students.  
  
"I will speak no more of this tonight," he said finally. "If you have any questions, you may speak with Professor McGonagall or myself and we will tell you as much as we can. And now, because you must all be tired, I will ask the prefects to show the First-Years to their dorms. And, if I could speak with Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, Ernie Macmillan, Stewart Ackerly, Draco Malfoy, and Stephen Cornfoot before they go? I will meet them at the door to my office. Good Night, all."  
  
All around Harry, students were rising to their feet. Hermione moved away quickly, calling for the First years to follow her, with the help of the Fifth-Year prefects. Ron and Harry looked at each other.  
  
"What do you reckon he wants us about?" Ron asked as they rose. Harry shrugged and began to follow the stream of children moving out of the Great Hall. As he passed through the doors, he turned left and began to make his way to the Headmaster's office.  
  
"No idea," he said. "You and Malfoy are both prefects, and so is Ernie, but no one else, so it can't be that. I'm certainly no prefect. Maybe it's Quidditch?"  
  
"I guess," Ron answered dubiously. "But, why would Ravenclaw and Gryffindor have two representatives?  
  
"Anyone who says they understand Dumbledore needs to get his head examined," Harry replied.  
  
The paintings all around him were empty. Ahead, he saw a large and ornate gold frame, filled with so many figures that they seemed to be almost bursting out into the corridor. The Pink Lady's friend, Violet, waved cheerily and nearly spilled her champagne.  
  
There was already small group of people gathered at the stone gargoyle, which looked rather irritated at having so many children near it. Stewart Ackerly was trying to persuade it to talk, tapping it on the head with his wand. From the look on its face, the gargoyle was using most of its self- control not to bite his hand off.  
  
When Dumbledore appeared at the end of the corridor, the beast looked relieved. Ackerly jumped backwards, his wand vanishing up into his sleeve, and grinned sheepishly. Dumbledore gave him an understanding look and turned to the group.  
  
"I'm glad that you have all been prompt," he said. "While I certainly enjoy the opportunity to speak with you, I'm sure that you all have much better things to do with your time. Therefore, I will try and make each meeting as brief as possible, starting with you, Harry. If you will follow me upstairs?"  
  
He said a soft word to the gargoyle, which sprang aside, and led Harry up the winding staircase to his office.  
  
"Sherbet Lemon?" he asked, waving a hand towards a silver bowl that sat on the desk. Harry shook his head. Dumbledore shrugged and took one of the little yellow candies. "It will be your loss, then." He sat down slowly and crossed his hands in front of him. He stared at Harry for a moment, until the boy was certain he was going to squirm soon, and then he smiled.  
  
"Last year you had a rather interesting club," he said, and Harry felt his eyebrows raising.  
  
"Yes," he said dubiously.  
  
"Well, I was creating the timetable for co-curricular activities this year, and found that the Empty Air club has been disbanded. It seems to me a good thing, too," he confided, a twinkle in his eyes. "A group of children sitting inside on a beautiful summer's day just staring at the air - foolishness has its place, make no mistake, but I think that there are limits. At any rate, there is now a rather large space in the schedule, and I was wondering if you would like to fill it."  
  
"Sir?" Harry asked, not quite certain what he was hearing.  
  
"Your Defence club was most practical," Dumbledore continued. "Never have I seen Mister Longbottom more confident than when I found him at the Ministry last year, and teachers have been noting an improvement in other students work as well. I would strongly urge you to continue with your club this year. Not in secret, of course."  
  
Harry frowned. He was taking fewer courses this year, which would give him more time, but NEWT courses were supposed to be significantly harder than anything he'd done, and he wouldn't look forward to something else cutting into his time. Still, it had been an experience, having people look up to him and acknowledge what he knew. And if he taught people what to do, maybe he wouldn't be alone in the future. And Dumbledore was looking at him very intensely, so Harry spread his hands and shrugged.  
  
"All right," he said. "I'll do it."  
  
Dumbledore beamed.  
  
"I hoped you would," he said. "Now, perhaps you might want to consider renaming it - I'm not certain that Dumbledore's Army is quite appropriate, however flattering it may be. I will let you make that decision. You might want to consult with Miss Granger; she played a rather large role in its creation, as I recall."  
  
Harry nodded and got to his feet.  
  
"Is that it, sir?" he asked. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"If you could let me know what you decide sometime this week it would be appreciated. You can tell Mister Weasley that he should come up after you; I'll let the Gryffindors return to their common room."  
  
Harry nodded again and made his way across the Headmaster's office. He had his hand on the doorknob, and the door halfway open, when a voice behind him stopped him.  
  
"Oh, Harry," Dumbledore added. "I had wanted to tell you. The password to my office is 'ice mice'. If you ever need to speak with me, I will tell the gargoyle to let you pass."  
  
Harry paused. This was not something he had expected.  
  
"Um, thank you, sir," he answered. He waited, expecting some sort of further explanation from the headmaster, but the old man simply smiled warmly at him and said nothing. Harry shrugged, mumbled another brief thank you, and made his way down the stairs.  
  
Because Ron was talking with Dumbledore, and because Ron didn't trust the Fifth-Year prefect to do a proper job of explaining things, the task fell onto Harry's shoulders. He made his way quickly to the Gryffindor Tower, just in time to hear a group of Third-years saying that the password was 'jellybungle', and hurried in after them. In the Common Room, Hermione was standing in front of the fireplace with the First-Year girls, explaining things to them while the other prefects watched and talked among themselves. The First-Year boys were huddled on another side of the room, and Hermione shot Harry a glance as he entered. He nodded and approached the boys.  
  
"Hey," he called, and heads turned towards him. "I'm not a Prefect," he began, "but Ron's talking to Professor Dumbledore, so I'll just explain things briefly and then if you have any other questions you can ask him, all right?" There were nods from the group, and Harry continued. "The door right there leads to the male dorms. On the first flight up is the First Year dorms, which is for you guys. The next floor has the Second Years, and so on and so forth." He quickly scanned the group. "You guys won't have to worry about choosing dorms; the house Elves have put your trunks by a bed, so you'll have to look around until you find it. There are two dorm rooms, so there will be enough beds for you all." He paused and looked at the faces in front of him, looking for some sort of comprehension. When he found it, he continued.  
  
"That door there leads to the female dorms," he went on. Ahead of him, smiles turned into mischievous smirks. "Don't even think about going up there," he warned. "The staircase looks normal, but it finds interesting ways of dumping you back down if you try and go up. Ron will tell you - he found himself sliding all the way down. And the staircase has to be manually reset by a teacher, so the girls will all be pretty pissed at you until it happens.  
  
"So, if you have any questions you can ask me, or you can wait until Ron shows up and then you can as- Ron!"  
  
The redhead stepped through the portrait hall and stopped, a worried look on his face.  
  
"You're not done yet?" he asked. Harry shook his head with a grin.  
  
"You can finish this up," he said. "I've gone over dorms, that's about it. I'm sure they have lots of questions, don't you?"  
  
There were a number of nods, and Ron groaned softly.  
  
"All right, mites," he said grimly. "What do you want to know?" Harry waved at them and went up to the Sixth-Year dorm.  
  
There he found Dean, Seamus, and Neville, all in the middle of unpacking their belongings, and the room was beginning to return to its normal state of mild chaos. Dean had found a way to charm his Football posters, and their games joined the pandemonium of Seamus's Quidditch flyers on the walls. Neville had only one picture; a group of musicians, playing behind a woman in brilliant white robes. A flying banner proclaimed them to be Crypt, which would explain the vaguely Egyptian theme that he saw in the background, and Neville confessed that he had a rather large crush on the lead singer, Cleo. Harry absorbed this information with a faintly encouraging smile and began to unpack his own trunk into the chest of drawers beside his bed.  
  
Ron came in a few minutes later, wearing a cross between a smile and a scowl, and promising quite warmly to murder Harry in his sleep later on that night. Hermione followed him up, stuck her head in, and then left, and Harry decided that she was becoming ever so slightly weird. He set his magic eight-ball down on the dresser beside his dragon and his wand, looked down at his trunk, and found that it was empty except for his supplies. The rest of his dorm-mates were settling in, so he put on his pyjamas, said good night to the room, threw himself onto his new bed, and went to sleep.  
  
~*~*~  
  
He woke the next morning to a shrill beeping noise. The pillow he threw over his head didn't help, and he sat up to find a very sheepish looking Neville trying to do something with a strange-looking blue box that sat beside his bed.  
  
"Alarm clock," he muttered. "Except that I can't remember how to turn it off! Everything has code words. I'm horrible at that."  
  
The beeping stopped. Neville looked astonished. Then an enlightened smile came across his face. He rolled sharply out of bed and fumbled in his trunk for a quill and a piece of parchment and emerged scribbling madly.  
  
"What's the password?" Harry asked.  
  
"No idea," Neville replied. "But I'll just write down everything I said, and part of it has to be right!"  
  
Harry laughed and began to get changed into his robes.  
  
The first breakfast of school was always mandatory; a chance to hand out schedules and make any last-minute announcements that didn't manage to make their way into the Banquet Speech. Harry and the rest of the students all managed to arrive at eight o'clock and sat down at the long tables, talking quietly. The staff appeared more slowly, with Professor Snape arriving last of all, and looking thoroughly miserable at being forced to make his appearance. Professor Jones gave him a sympathetic look, which he perhaps accepted, perhaps rejected, with a wave of his hand.  
  
When he was properly settled, Dumbledore stood and once more tapped his glass with his wand. As the echoes of sound faded from the room, he spoke.  
  
"I have little to say today," he began. "Mister Filch would like me to say that Exploding Earfuls have been added to his list as of last night, which would lead me to remind you that there is a curfew and that you would all be wise to obey it. Your schedules should be at your tables, but if they are not please ask your Head of House. And now, to breakfast."  
  
The tables were once more laden with food, and this time something else; to the right of each plate was a folded roll of parchment. Harry examined his, and found it to contain his schedule, as well as a list of clubs, and a third paper listing the times and locations of the make-up examinations. Potions, it appeared, was directly after lunch that afternoon.  
  
He saw Ron look at the list and grimace, before turning to a fourth sheet.  
  
"What's that?" Harry asked.  
  
"What?" Ron looked over, then back down at the parchment, and then blushed. "Well, it's nothing, really, just that . well, I've been made Quidditch Captain."  
  
"Of course you did," Harry replied. Ron blinked.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, who else would it be?" Ron frowned for a moment and then shrugged.  
  
"I don't know," he answered. "Anyways, you have to try out tomorrow evening. It says here that your lifetime ban was reduced to one year by the Ministry - bloody kind of them, eh? - but you'll have to try out for Seeker again this year if you want to play." He indicated the parchment.  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
"Are you recruiting anyone else?" he asked. Ron shrugged.  
  
"There are a couple of Third Years who were thinking of trying out for some minor positions, and some other people in the older years, I hope. Otherwise we're kind of screwed. Fred, George, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia all gone in one year." He shook his head.  
  
Harry nodded sympathetically.  
  
"And I've got a Divination make-up before potions!" Ron wailed. Harry grinned.  
  
"Better you than me," he answered, and began to eat.  
  
~*~*~  
  
The dungeon was always dark and cold, but it seemed even worse now, with Snape standing at the head of the class, looking as if he was doing them all an enormous favour. Harry looked around and saw Seamus and Neville, Terry Boot, and an assortment of other students. In the Slytherin section of the room, Blaise Zabini sat calmly combing her long black hair with her fingers. She shot Harry a smirk when he looked over, and then turned her attention back to herself.  
  
Suddenly, the door at the back of the room slammed shut. Snape stood straighter, and all conversation stopped.  
  
"You are hear because you are not good enough," he said very slowly, voice like liquid ice. "You are going to try and convince me that I was wrong; that you are, in fact, moderately capable, and I assure you that it is not easy. I dislike being proved wrong, and my judgements are founded on a meticulous observation. Today I will accept nothing short of perfection. Your potions are on the board." He flicked his wand backwards and three columns appeared. Names were written at the top, followed by instructions. "The ingredients are all in the cupboard, and you have two hours. If I hear a word of conversation every person within a three desk radius of the sound will fail." With that, he took a scroll of parchment from his desk and began to read.  
  
Harry swallowed for a moment and then looked up at the board. His name was written in the first column, along with Seamus, Blaise, and a handful of others. The ingredients were listed carefully, and Harry kept his eyes on the board as he gathered them. The potion he was making was a Mutation potion that would give the drinker a pair of wings for a three-hour period of time. It was one of the most difficult potions Harry had ever seen.  
  
Eyes constantly flicking upwards, Harry measured and weighed precisely 5.72 ounces of dried mungwart, ground it into a fine powder, and sifted it into a cauldron of boiling water. He stirred three times anticlockwise and increased the heat of the flames by seven degrees before proceeding to the next step.  
  
Five minutes later, Harry was half way through chopping a Lionfish whisker when the first three steps disappeared from the board to reveal another three. Professor Snape, firmly engrossed in his reading, didn't move.  
  
From then on, Harry found himself in a constant race with the blackboard, and it took all of his concentration not to rush and make stupid mistakes. The current words stated that, following the careful insertion of three whole liquorice roots, the potion should turn a shimmering violet colour. Harry released them slowly and crossed his fingers, praying. He opened them again to a glint of purple, and very nearly knocked his cauldron over with excitement. He froze the flames and allowed the potion to cool for fourteen and a half minutes, watching the people around him.  
  
Ernie Macmillan was working on a potion from the second column, and Harry saw instantly that this was a much more difficult one to prepare. His cauldron was currently giving off a shower of silver sparks, which didn't appear to be anywhere on the instructions, and Harry could almost see him sweating. He was suddenly very grateful for the amount of work he did put in the year before.  
  
Finally, after what somehow seemed like and instant and an eternity at the same time, the instructions on the board vanished to leave the final step as well as a flashing sign that proclaimed 'five more minutes'. Harry blinked and dumped a handful of beetle eyes into his cauldron. He waited two minutes, stirred once clockwise, waited another minute, and then extinguished the flames beneath the vessel.  
  
A small phial appeared beside his cauldron. Harry ladled some of his potion into it and stoppered it, visions of the previous year floating through his memory. He then sat, staring nervously at the back of someone's head, until Snape stood.  
  
"Your time is up," he said, and the instructions vanished. "Although I highly doubt that any of you will have managed to create anything useful, you may bring your potions up and put them neatly on my desk. You will receive the results of this examination within the next few days. Regular classes begin on Monday."  
  
Harry did as he was told, watching carefully to make sure that nothing went wrong, and then took his leave of the Dungeon and it's master.  
  
By the second evening, things were beginning to fall into a more normal pattern. The results to Harry's potion makeup had come in the form of a scrap of parchment with the words 'tolerably acceptable' written in what seemed to be a distinctively resentful scrawl. Harry had been astounded, dropping his fork into his eggs without realising it, and the paper now sat firmly beneath the statuette of the dragon.  
  
Ron had yet to receive his results. He took this as a sign of his immediate failure, and had been beaming broadly, when Hermione had politely told him that only the A test potions were marked yet, and that he stood a perfectly decent chance of having passed. He was no longer speaking to Hermione.  
  
"I'm only taking it for my Mum," he explained to Harry on the way down to the Quidditch pitch. "I don't need it for anything, I'm sure, and if I have to spend another year with Snape I'm going to go bloody mad. He'd better not pass me."  
  
Quidditch trials themselves had been less interesting than Harry had expected. He had forgone this procedure the first time, having been appointed directly to the position of Seeker by McGonagall. Now, he found himself forced to fly after round golf ball-like objects, and navigate a completely pointless course in the required amount of time. There were no other applicants for Seeker, since everyone knew Harry would be accepted, and on the whole Harry thought it was all rather a waste of time.  
  
He had been about to tell Ron this, but the look of paternal pride on his friends face put him off enough to hold his mouth shut. Instead he smiled warmly when Ron insisted on conducting a play-by-play of his trials, and hoped that he'd get over it by the time the season started.  
  
There had been other additions to the team, which Harry found much more interesting. Because the majority of the team had graduated the previous year, Harry found himself working with almost a completely different group of people. Seamus, Ginny, and Andrew Kirke took over for the girls as chasers, and Colin and Dennis Creevy replaced the Weasley twins as beaters. Despite Harry's initial misgivings about this, he discovered early on that the brothers' destructive powers were easy to harness, and the two worked almost seamlessly. Natalie Macdonald, a girl in her third year, was being kept in reserve, and was training now for every position, just in case of emergency.  
  
Despite the fact that today had been another day of make-up exams, and therefore a day where Harry had to do absolutely nothing, he found himself tired at the end of it. Therefore, after dinner and two games of chess with Ron, he left the common room and went up to his bed. He put his glasses and wand away, changed into his pyjamas, and got into the large bed.  
  
Slowly, as now he always did, he emptied his mind of all thoughts, and focussed on trying to control the world he was about to enter.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Draco was not a dreamer. In the waking world he knew them to be foolish things not worthy of him, and if he dreamt while he was asleep he certainly never remembered it later on. It was with some surprise, therefore, that soon after falling asleep Draco found himself in a small, stone room. It was quite dark, to the point where he could only just make out the boundaries of the cell-like space. Then, slowly, the room seemed to grow.  
  
He could now see the outline of three men standing in the centre of the room, growing clearer as he watched. He instantly recognised the figure of his father, and then the short, squat man behind him. When the third figure spoke, there was no doubt as to his identity.  
  
"Lucius, my toy. You have promised me many great things. As yet, you have done what you said you would do, and I am pleased. Now there is only one thing left. Let us see how well you keep your word."  
  
Lucius Malfoy straightened.  
  
"I have fulfilled my vow to you, my Lord," he replied smoothly, a subtle arrogance on his tongue. The figure of the Dark Lord straightened slightly. "You will see it for yourself in my Son."  
  
This time Draco stiffened as the room was thrown into a brilliant clarity. Wormtail, quivering slightly, stared at him with those beady eyes. His father's glare was haughty, commanding. The third man did not yet look at him, staring instead at the older Malfoy. The gaze remained there for a moment, and the hooded head nodded. The eyes moved from father to son.  
  
"Young Malfoy." The words were cold. "Your father has a promise to keep, and he says that it is done. He has told me that you are strong, wilful, but obedient. He says that you believe in me and in what I value, and that you will serve me as he has served me. He claims that you are everything I could ever wish from you. That is, of course the reason that you are here. And when I look at you, I am inclined to believe him. However." The phrase faded off, and the Snake Lord's gaze became pensive. "I will not leave a matter this important upon the words of your father. Your life is yours, and you must be the one to say what you make of it. So, Young Malfoy. What have you to say? You may look away."  
  
Free, Draco blinked and looked down at the floor. His thoughts raced, and he cast his eyes wildly around the stones at his feet. Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of gold-lined black. The fabric moved slightly, and Draco did not need to look closer to know what it was.  
  
Potter.  
  
For some reason, impossibly, Potter was here. He, the irritating brat of a boy, the one thing tarnishing Draco's otherwise perfect existence, had managed to infiltrate this most sacred gathering, and was watching. Draco was furious. This was not his place, he had no right to be here. It was that, more than anything, that gave him the courage to look up again in to the smouldering eyes of the Dark Lord.  
  
"I live to serve you," he said, bending one knee in front of the man.  
  
Two icy fingers were placed under his chin, and he felt himself rise to his feet.  
  
"You are eager, Young Malfoy. That is dangerous. It can mean one of two things." The Snake Lord was silent for a moment, contemplating. Then the serpentine face morphed into a semblance of a smile. It was cruel. "Very well, Eager One. I will take you at your word. You will serve me well at Hogwarts."  
  
The hand left Draco's neck, moved to his left arm. The sleeve of his school robe was pulled up, and the shirt under it, revealing perfect, pale skin. Then, gently, the Dark Lord touched his index finger to Draco's arm.  
  
Pain exploded through his body, starting from the point of contact and radiating throughout him, as if searching for a means of exit, finding none, bouncing back. Pain amplified off of pain, taking over his entire existence. As Draco watched, a black point appeared. Slowly, the Dark Lord began to draw his Mark with his finger.  
  
Then, suddenly, something broke. With the last bit of concentration he had, Draco pulled back. Lord Voldemort looked surprised for a moment, and then the face became unreadable.  
  
"Too eager," he said softly. "I suspected as much. But you were eager too, my Toy. Perhaps it should come as no surprise. Ah well, no matter." His gaze turned from Draco to his father, turned deadly. "You promised me that he would be perfect," he pronounced. "And I told you then what would happen if you failed."  
  
For the first time in his life, Draco saw fear on his father's face.  
  
"Please, my Lord!" Lucius pleaded, and Draco watched as he grovelled and begged like a worthless Muggle. "Spare my life! His behaviour is no fault of mine!" His mouth opened once more, but what emerged was a shriek of agony as Voldemort's wand appeared fixed on the blond man, and the words of the curse echoed through the small room.  
  
Finally the screams died, and the arched body crumpled and fell. Voldemort's gaze returned to Draco.  
  
"That is the price of failure," he said simply. "I will give you this warning, because I am fair. Your father disobeyed me, and he thought to hide it from me, to pass the guilt to you, his own kin. You have not yet done that, for I have given you no command, and I will give you no command. You will not join me if you do not wish to. I do not have the time to bend you to my will. But your rejection of me was as impulsive as your acceptance was. Do you truly wish it? You can still serve me."  
  
The tone was completely open, honest, trustworthy. Draco felt something inside himself twist, trying to return to the safety of submission. But the rest has been unleashed, and he couldn't turn back.  
  
The Dark Lord smiled again, his cold smile, and nodded his head.  
  
"I thought as much. Your father would not have been pleased."  
  
Suddenly, a blow to the head sent Draco reeling. He fell backwards, catching his elbow on the floor, and looked up to find his father staring down at him.  
  
"You pathetic, weak boy," the man sneered. "You were given a chance for power and you turned it away. Coward. You are no son of mine."  
  
Draco struggled to sit up, but was knocked down again by a sharp kick between his ribs. He sank back with a groan.  
  
"But you died," he gasped weakly, turning to look towards the centre of the room. Voldemort was gone; only the crumpled figure remained. Lucius laughed.  
  
"You think that I would put myself there?" he asked with a deprecating gesture. "No, that is where you belong, not me."  
  
He turned and vanished in a swirl of black robes, and then there was another face at the edge of Draco's vision.  
  
"I'm sorry," Potter murmured, and then Draco was falling. 


	4. mutatio solus constans manet

Author's Note: I would just like to send my extreme apologies. I didn't mean for this to take this long, and I really hope that the next one will come out sooner. Unfortunately, school has taken priority, and I had the end of semester in January and the beginning coming on now, which means workload, and it doesn't seem like it's going to reduce significantly in the next little while. Regardless, I am not giving up on this, especially since I have the next four chapters planned out already, so please just be patient and bear with me.  
  
I'd also like to say an enormous 'thank you' to all of the people who have reviewed. Most especially Peta, Justice, and Dana, for nagging me so much. In answer to some questions, there is a main pairing, Harry/Draco, but I'm not a huge fan of writing pwp, and I don't like dramatically changing characters overnight, so it'll take some time. If you're looking for an h/d based plotline, sorry. I'm planning on writing something else along those lines later, but not for now.  
  
Thanks for sticking with me, here's the next chapter. ^_^  
  
Change Alone Remains Constant  
  
mutatio solus constans manet  
  
Up until that point, Harry hadn't realised the realities of Dreamwalking. He had always known, of course, that the God-like control he had over his own dreams wasn't the end of it all, but his unexpected transportation into Malfoy's dream gave him a sudden awakening. He had known as soon as he had entered the ethereal room that he could leave when he wanted, but the fact that he was there without his consent was troubling. That was, after all, precisely what he was trying to prevent.  
  
Harry had learned something interesting, though, which more than made up for the strange event. Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater. And was, perhaps, insane. He had watched him, watched as the scene unfolded. It had taken him a moment to even realise what was going on, and he had spent almost the entire time in shocked disbelief. Malfoy was a selfish prat, incapable of consideration for others, but the way he had been treated was something to be considered. Lucius Malfoy had treated his son as if he were a possession, a being without a will of its own. It perhaps gave some insight into Malfoy's utter lack of compassion.  
  
However, that didn't change what had happened. Voldemort, it appeared, had expected Malfoy to become a Death Eater. That he wanted it to be a voluntary decision was another interesting point, one to be considered, maybe, and something Dumbledore should know. The real issue, though, was what happened after Malfoy turned down the Dark Lord. Lucius had died, and Harry had watched it with a certain satisfaction. The leader of the Death Eaters was now dead; things looked slightly better for the 'light' side.  
  
Now, the next morning, he thought about what he had seen as he poked at scrambled eggs with a fork. He had seen Malfoy Marked. He had pulled back, granted, but he had been touched, and from the way he had reacted there was something there. Harry had to wonder now what the result of that would be. Part of him, a part that he dearly tried to repress, worried about the Slytherin. That was the part he hoped to appease by seeing Dumbledore, because if left unchecked it could do disastrous things to an otherwise perfect rivalry. The other, more sensible part of him wondered how this would affect Quidditch and, perhaps, classes.  
  
The hardest part of not being able to play in the previous year was watching his team fight against Slytherin, knowing he couldn't help them. He yearned now for another chance to prove himself superior to Malfoy. He had never lost to the blond boy, and beating Slytherin without him would be like a cheap victory.  
  
The Slytherin table was almost deserted, save for a few third year girls who were chatting away as only young teens can manage. Seated the way he was, Harry's casual gaze couldn't help but turn onto that table, and so he couldn't help but notice the fact that Malfoy was late for breakfast. In six years of school, he had been late only twice before.  
  
Finally, when Harry was just about to finish his last sausage, the doors to the Great Hall opened to let in a group of Fifth-year Ravenclaws and one Draco Malfoy. His normally impeccable hair was dishevelled and there were dark circles under his eyes. His robes hung awkwardly, as if one button had been done up improperly, and three steps into the room he tripped on the hem and staggered. Only a wild grasp at a nearby Ravenclaw boy kept him on his feet, and he hardly seemed to notice when the entire Great Hall snickered.  
  
His gaze sailed over them all, landing quickly on Harry, and sending him an almost tangible pulse of pure hatred. It was a completely different look than anything Harry had ever received; the malice and the perpetual sneer were a part of it, of course, but beneath that seemed to lie a sort of personal anger and resentment. Harry raised his eyebrows. Malfoy turned away.  
  
"What was that about?" Dean asked, suddenly. Harry looked at him.  
  
"What was what?" he returned. Dean gave him a long look.  
  
"Did you do something to Malfoy that you didn't tell us about?" he asked. "'Cause if you did, and it deserved a look like that, I wish I could've been there."  
  
"Did you steal something from the twins?" Seamus suggested eagerly. "Ooh, I can just imagine him itching for twelve hours!"  
  
Harry held up his hands and shook his head.  
  
"No," he answered. "I didn't do anything. I guess he's just feeling especially Malfoy today, or something, and had to take it out on me."  
  
At the Slytherin table, Malfoy sat down wrong and slid half-way off of the bench before righting himself. He put a potato pancake onto his plate and poked at it with a knife, and then shook his head. Harry finished off the rest of his breakfast.  
  
"Look," he said, "I've got to go talk to someone before class starts, so I'll catch up with you later, all right?"  
  
A collective shrug ran around the table. Across the room, Malfoy stood and began to make a shaky exit. Harry cursed. He did not want to be followed.  
  
Quickly he made his way across the hall and had just reached the door when it burst open to admit a giant throng of students all trying to catch a late meal before classes started. The largest group of Hufflepuff girls Harry had ever seen came through, all chattering merrily in high voices, stopping momentarily to wave at him before continuing. Harry crossed his arms and waited.  
  
Behind him, he heard a noise, and he saw in his peripheral vision a figure with platinum blond hair making its slow way up to the doors. Harry suppressed a groan and looked away.  
  
"Hey, Malfoy. Been stealing Filch's Firewhisky again?"  
  
The entire Great Hall fell silent, braced for either a scathing retort or an outburst of tears. The result was neither, although Harry was certain that the student body couldn't have hoped for anything better. Malfoy spun quickly on his heel, and the hem of his robes, which still hung on the floor, caught on the heel of his shoe. His face went utterly blank and he stood frozen for a moment, and then his entire weight fell straight towards Harry, who caught him.  
  
He didn't know who was more mortified.  
  
Harry pushed him away quickly, and the Slytherin took a step backwards. Harry forced a smirk onto his face.  
  
"Why Malfoy," he drawled, in what was actually a fair impression of the blonde, "I didn't know you cared." He was rewarded by a look of horror on his rival's face.  
  
Before Malfoy could open his mouth, another voice came from behind Harry's left ear.  
  
"And, before you think about doing anything, you might want to remember that there are lots of Prefects around."  
  
Harry beamed at Ron, who gave him a friendly nod.  
  
"So, any points you take away can be made up quite easily," Hermione added. Malfoy looked positively murderous.  
  
"You're not worth my time," he growled, and stalked off.  
  
Harry followed him slowly, and turned left at the next fork in the corridors. He made his way once more to the stone gargoyle, and through the gauntlet of portraits, all grinning and waving and wanting to know how he was doing on such a fine day, and wasn't he going to be late for class? He was immensely grateful that he did not have to run into Sir Cadogan, whose adventures to far-off portraits never seemed to take him this far into the depths of the castle, but there were other who seemed almost to be worse.  
  
Finally he reached the beast, who sat wide awake this time, glaring at him and the world in general. He approached it slowly and smiled to show his good intentions.  
  
"Ice mice," he said quickly, and waited. The gargoyle looked at him "Um ." Harry paused awkwardly. "I did say the password right, didn't I? You have to let me in, I must see the Headmaster."  
  
The gargoyle looked at him. Harry reached for his wand.  
  
"Was the password wrong?"  
  
The gargoyle looked at him. Then its expression turned into something between a glower and a glare, and it moved slowly aside.  
  
"Thank you very much," Harry said for good measure as he walked by the creature and up the stairs. He heard it move back into place behind him.  
  
He made his way up the twisting stairs, thinking. What exactly was he going to say? It hadn't been his dream, and what he saw certainly wasn't his to tell. Malfoy would kill him. With each step he took, his confidence slipped away from him, until he found himself staring at the wooden door to the Headmaster's office with nothing but a strong urge to run away.  
  
He was about to do just that when a voice sounded in the room, and the door opened.  
  
"Harry, you must come in. I certainly never intended the stairway to be a waiting area for guests. Come in, come in.'  
  
Harry grimaced and stepped into the room. The Headmaster was seated behind his desk, hands folded primly in front of him, wearing an expression of mild interest tinged with senility. Harry was beginning to realise that nothing was more incorrect.  
  
"Sit down."  
  
Well, there was really no alternative now. Once Dumbledore was interested, there was no way of convincing him that things were unimportant or trivial. Harry sat, looking down at his hands as he tried to put together what he was going to say.  
  
Dumbledore allowed the silence to exist for a moment, and then Harry heard sounds of him shifting in his chair.  
  
"Come, Harry," he said kindly. Harry looked up to see the man leaning forwards now. "I am certain that you did not come here to examine your fingernails. If you wish to tell me anything, I would advise you to do so before you lose the rest of your nerve."  
  
Harry felt himself flush uncomfortably.  
  
"Well, it's just that you said if I dreamed anything interesting I should tell you," he began. Dumbledore nodded, and Harry saw a spark of interest light in his eyes. Or perhaps it was sunlight. "Well . since you taught me about my dreams, I haven't really dreamed anything out of the ordinary. But in the last few weeks I suddenly realised that I could . I don't know, exactly. It was like a television, and I could change the channels, but that doesn't help, does it?" Harry frowned.  
  
To his surprise, Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"I have seen a television before in my time," he replied. "I believe I understand what you mean. You must remember, after all, that I am a Dreamwalker myself. Although, I am surprised that you have already progressed to that stage. Perhaps I should not be. So, you have been . channel surfing, I believe it is called . in others' dreams?"  
  
Harry blinked at the metaphor, and then nodded.  
  
"I normally don't know where I end up . it's more like I go wherever someone's dreaming. Sometimes I can recognise people, sometimes I can't, it doesn't really matter. But I thought I should practice it, so lately I've been seeing if I can get some more control."  
  
Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"Anyway, Professor, as I said, normally I don't recognise people. But last night I did, and I thought I had to tell you. This time it wasn't my dream - it was Malfoy's."  
  
Slowly Harry related all that he could remember from the previous night. He watched as the Headmaster's expression became increasingly alert, and he nodded periodically, storing information, although he never made a noise. Harry was glad for the lack of interruption, and pushed on, making sure he didn't leave out anything.  
  
"I don't know what happened," he confessed. "It suddenly got really strange - like he saw something I didn't, or something, but Malfoy had just turned away from Voldemort, and then he just fell down. It was like he was hit by something, but there was nothing there. And then he started talking - I think it was to his dad, but he was dead. I could see him in the middle of the room. And then suddenly it got really hard for me to stay there. It was like someone was pushing me out of the dream, like there was a giant basket scooping me out, and then the next thing I saw was ." he stopped. "Well, it wasn't Malfoy's dream any more."  
  
Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"Draco was waking up," he said. "That was the sensation you felt, so that you know it the next time."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Harry waited for further in formation, but the Headmaster's gaze had drifted away from him, to the bookshelves behind him, and he appeared to be lost in thought.  
  
"Um, professor?" he asked timidly. The man's eyes jumped back into focus. "Um . what happened last night? It couldn't have been real, could it?"  
  
Slowly, Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed it was, Harry," he answered. "It was very real. And we are most fortunate that you were there to witness it. But be careful - you could very well be injured."  
  
"But," Harry protested, "it was a dream. How could that hurt me in real life?"  
  
"When I first introduced the subject of Dreamwalking to you, I explained certain things," Dumbledore said. "I believe I mentioned that a Dreamwalker could summon another into a dream?" Harry nodded. "Yes. Well, there was another part of that which I neglected to explain. You see, Harry, if a person creates a dream, it is their reality. The soul and mind are completely deceived. For Muggles and the like that is not a problem, because the soul and the mind alone do not have the power to influence the body. But for Wizards, matters are slightly different. Magic can make dreams real."  
  
Harry held up a hand, confused.  
  
"But, Professor, if dreaming is like reality, then why don't we always wake up with scratches and bruises?"  
  
Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"Now there lies the distinction between a dream and a Dreamwalker's creation. You see, magic is not controlled by the body entirely, but neither is it controlled completely by the mind. It lies between, and that is what keeps us safe as we dream. While our minds are taken in by the dream, our magic lies connected to our bodies, and so it knows that the sensations we experience in our dreams are not real.  
  
"However, a skilled Dreamwalker can fool magic, and that is why he is dangerous. Because if our magic is fooled, it will duplicate symptoms of the dream onto reality - specifically the physical form and immediate surroundings of the dreamer."  
  
"So, if I get stabbed in the chest by a Dreamwalker, I'm dead."  
  
Dumbledore shrugged slightly. "It is not always the case, but in general, yes."  
  
Harry shuddered.  
  
"And could I do that to someone? Kill them in a dream?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled kindly. He leaned back in his chair once more, steepling his fingers and peering over them at Harry.  
  
"To be perfectly honest, my boy, I haven't the faintest idea. I used to once think that I could predict you, but I now know that to be beyond folly. At your age, and the length of time you have been practising, it is highly unlikely that you would have the skill to kill, or even scratch. But, one can never be certain."  
  
Harry looked at him critically.  
  
"Could you?"  
  
The Headmaster didn't blink.  
  
"Of course," he replied.  
  
Harry rose abruptly.  
  
"I'm sorry, Professor, but I'm late for class," he said quickly. "I didn't think it would take this long - and it's my first class, I can't afford not to be on time."  
  
Dumbledore nodded, almost sadly.  
  
"Don't worry, Harry. I'll right you a note - I'm certain that Professor Fletcher won't be upset with you." He scribbled something in shining ink onto a brilliant violet scrap of parchment, folded it twice, and handed it to Harry. "Just show him this and he'll forgive you. You take his class with the Slytherins?"  
  
"Yes, Professor." Harry put the parchment in the pocket of his robes, and watched as Dumbledore selected another sheet of the vibrant paper.  
  
"Will you be so kind, then, as to give this to Mister Malfoy when you see him? Ask him if he would visit me on his next free period, or at lunch, and feel free to give him the password, if he has forgotten it."  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"Well then, Harry, I hope you have a good day."  
  
~*~*~  
  
The classroom was empty, and for a moment Harry thought he had gone to the wrong room. He turned to leave again, when he noticed a figure sitting moodily at a desk. He turned, and Harry realised it was Malfoy, who glared at him for a moment before turning away.  
  
"Harry!" A voice said from the other side of the room. "Thought ye'd up and left us 'ere all on our owns. But look 'ere, Mister Malfoy. You've got a partner now."  
  
Mundungus Fletcher miraculously emerged from a corner that Harry would have sworn was empty. He looked remarkably different, he thought. His robes were relatively neat, and his hair was slicked to the side, which made him seem slightly greasy, but professional. The only things that still gave evidence to his less . savoury . side were the unidentifiable stains on his hands, and the way his beady eyes glinted even in the dim light of the classroom.  
  
"I have a note from the Headmaster, Professor," Harry supplied, taking it out of his robes and handing it out. Mundungus shuddered.  
  
"I'm still not used to that," he said candidly. "Professor. Pah. I'm no more a Professor than young Mister Malfoy 'ere is a gutter rat. Ah well. Let's see it, then, shall we?" He took the scrap of parchment, blinked at it twice, then stuffed it in a pocket without unfolding it. At Harry's look he grinned. "If ye'd been tryin' to sneak out of my class you not have written your note on anything that . Dumbledore," he answered. "An' you'd probably not've come back, neither. Mister Malfoy!"  
  
Malfoy looked up again, startled, and rose slowly to his feet.  
  
"Yes, Professor Fletcher," he asked, and Harry was surprised to hear no resentment or ridicule in his voice. He really did like the up-to-no-good type, then.  
  
Mundungus beckoned him over, grinning. "Mister Malfoy, it appears that you now have a partner." He turned to Harry. "Now, Mister Potter. We did go over some of the basic theory behind this stuff, 'acourse, but ye've come a bit too late for that. I'm sure ye can get the notes from a classmate." Harry nodded. "Good. Well, now we've got everyone paired off 'round the school to try and set some basic wards. Next class we'll learn to break 'em, an' some more difficult types, but for now just a basic ward will do. It's in the first page of yer book, there."  
  
Again Harry nodded, and opened his textbook.  
  
"We did something like this with Professor Sprout last year," he said suddenly, as he recognised the spell. Mundungus looked surprised. "Well, not everyone," Harry added. "Some of the plants were supposed to be off- bounds, so she had Hermione and I ward them."  
  
"P'raps Hermione should've taken Wards, then," Mundungus commented. "Still, it's just as well. Mister Malfoy says he already knows it all, so you two should be just fine together." He winked. "If you'd like to make things a bit more difficult, feel free."  
  
For the first time that day, Malfoy smirked.  
  
"Now, then." Mundungus gestured, and two trunks appeared on the desks. "Each of you take one of those, an' try to ward it against the other one. Ye can use any wards ye can cast, and anything ye can think of to break 'em."  
  
With that he was gone, turning in a swirl of robes that suddenly made him look like a flying ball of dust. Harry felt Malfoy glaring at him.  
  
"Take one," the Slytherin said, and Harry immediately felt suspicious, but there was nothing Malfoy could have done. He grabbed the chest nearest to him, which was much lighter than it appeared, and took it off to one corner of the classroom. Behind him, he heard Malfoy moving.  
  
Events were fortunate, however. Because of the heat, and because the Dursleys didn't want to let him out of his room regardless, Harry had found himself with a lot of time on his hands, and not very much to do. This had, inevitably, led to him trying all sorts of things, more specifically, reading in entirety all of the textbooks from his previous year. Wards, it happened, were touched on in many classes, and he had found interesting references in his Charms text, as well as Transfiguration and even an interesting ward to place around carnivorous plants that would still permit feeding. Therefore, although he had had no opportunity to practice casting the ward, he felt quite certain he knew how they worked.  
  
Sure enough, the first few pages of this text covered principles and theories that Harry already knew. The first wards were similarly familiar, and Harry thought that Malfoy would have no problem breaking a simple Barrier charm, despite what Mundungus had said. It wasn't until he was half- way through the book that he found a ward he liked, that wasn't too hard, but still interesting enough to provide a challenge.  
  
Making certain that Malfoy was absorbed in his own work, Harry cast the spell.  
  
He was just beginning to read through other wards when there was a small flash, and Malfoy spun around, arms crossed.  
  
"Are ye done, then?" Mundungus asked brightly. "All right, Harry, let's see ye try'n break Malfoy's ward, shall we?"  
  
Harry nodded and walked over to the box. To his right, Malfoy smirked.  
  
"Dissfirmo," Harry said half-heartedly, pointing his wand at the chest. The standard charm, slightly higher than alohamora, but not much, was supposed to work on second-level wards. Nothing happened. Harry glared at Malfoy, whose smirk widened.  
  
Cautiously, Harry approached the chest.  
  
"Segur," he said, and watched as the object glowed a faint golden colour. The box was safe to touch. Behind him, Malfoy looked surprised.  
  
Harry reached out a hand to touch the lock. Half an inch away, he felt a strange tingling sensation around his fingers. The closer he got, the stronger it became, and suddenly Harry realised why. The tips of his fingers suddenly passed directly through the chest.  
  
"Corpus," Harry tried, and found his hand suddenly forced away as the second part of the Ward came into effect. "Dissfirmo." The latch clicked open.  
  
"Interesting," Mundungus said. "Clever, to think of that spell - and a very nice application of the transmaterial ward, Mister Malfoy. Very few Sixth Year students could accomplish that, on their first attempt, no less."  
  
Malfoy nodded his head in acceptance of the compliment.  
  
"Now, 'tis yer turn. See what ye can do."  
  
Malfoy approached Harry's chest with a confident walk. Smirking at Harry, he pointed his wand at it and said, "alohamora." Harry laughed.  
  
"Come on, Malfoy, you can do better than that, can't you?" Malfoy spun and glared at him.  
  
"Riveli," he said, slight frustration showing in his voice. Again, nothing happened. "Segur?" The box did not turn gold, but neither did it give off the faint black glow that indicated danger. Malfoy growled. Harry smiled. The ward wasn't very complicated, nor was it particularly sophisticated. When activated, in fact, it was almost useless. The only thing that made it worth casting was the fact that it was utterly unidentifiable. Malfoy seemed to sense this.  
  
"There's no way you'd know anything that can hurt me," he said finally, and reached forwards to touch the box. It jumped backwards. Mundungus laughed merrily.  
  
"Brilliant, Harry," he said. "'At's a nice 'un there, 'tis. Can ye break it, Mister Malfoy?"  
  
"Dissfirmo," Malfoy growled, pointing his wand at the now bouncing chest. It grew motionless, and the top fell backwards.  
  
"Ye made a mistake, Mister Malfoy," Mundungus said. "Do ye know wha't was?"  
  
"Credited Potter for having more intelligence than a pea," Malfoy suggested. Mundungus grinned slightly.  
  
"Not quite how I'd've put it," he said, "but I think ye've got the idea. Very nice Toadward, Harry."  
  
Harry grinned.  
  
"Now, If ye've got nothing else to do, why don't ye both go and enjoy a break before yer next class?" Mundungus suggested. "I've got nothin' for ye. Off ye go."  
  
Nodding, Harry left the classroom.  
  
~*~*~  
  
The Gargoyle sprang aside as soon as it saw him, and the door at the head of the winding stairs was open. It appeared that he was welcome. That impression was confirmed by the teacups and plate of biscuits that were sitting on the Headmaster's desk. Draco gritted his teeth and sat down.  
  
Professor Dumbledore looked up from the parchment he was reading as soon as Draco's food crossed the threshold into his office, and waved it away with a flick of his hand.  
  
"Draco," he said in a warm voice that instantly raised Draco's hackles. "Thank you for coming so promptly. You are not missing any class to see me?" Draco shook his head. "Very good. Of course, you are undoubtedly aware of why I wish to see you."  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I would assume it has to do with last night," he answered. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"Yes, that is right. Mister Potter came to see me this morning after breakfast, as I am sure you know, and told me of a rather . unusual experience last night."  
  
"Oh," Draco scoffed. "Yeah, he had an unusual experience."  
  
Dumbledore's eyebrow rose sharply.  
  
"Do not be so quick to judge, Draco," he said. "I did not try to compare his circumstances with yours, there is no reason for you to do so."  
  
Draco ducked his head slightly.  
  
"Fine. Sorry."  
  
Dumbledore did not seem convinced, but allowed the matter to drop.  
  
"As I said," he began again, "Mister Potter informed me of certain events that occurred last night. I asked to see you, because I thought that we might be able to help each other understand what precisely did happen."  
  
Draco snorted.  
  
"You mean you want me to talk, and make sure that my story goes along with Potter's, to make sure I'm not some lying -"  
  
Once again the eyebrows rose.  
  
"I do not think I want to hear the rest of that statement," Dumbledore interrupted firmly, "and I am sure you do not want to finish it. I am seen here as a kindly, if somewhat insane, old man, and primarily that holds true. But life is never that simple, my dear boy, and neither am I. So, for both of our sakes, I suggest you let the matter drop."  
  
Draco considered glaring for the moment, but instead nodded once.  
  
"All right, I'm sorry. What do you want?"  
  
"The truth," Dumbledore replied easily.  
  
And so, Draco started the story again. He watched the Headmaster's face as he spoke, searching for some kind of reaction, as the words fell from his lips. Dumbledore remained impassive. His eyebrows moved slightly at times, and small contractions at the corners of his mouth and eyes revealed contemplation, but Draco began to feel somewhat like he was speaking to a statue.  
  
It was only after he had finished speaking that Dumbledore moved. One hand rose from the arm of his chair and came to rest on the desk, palm open. His eyes looked sad.  
  
"I suppose the mark remains," he said. Draco nodded. His hand moved unconsciously to play with the edge of his left sleeve. Dumbledore's eyebrows moved again, and the fingers on the desk twitched slightly.  
  
Draco sighed and slid the fabric up, extending his arm. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"I see," he said. Draco paused. The headmaster inclined his head. "Can you feel it?" he asked.  
  
Draco nodded.  
  
"It stings a bit," he admitted, and something inside him twinged, because he had just admitted to pain, and a Malfoy will never admit to pain.  
  
"Naturally," Dumbledore said calmly. "My question, however, if you will pardon the directness of it, was regarding a magical connection. Can you feel anything of that nature?"  
  
Draco opened his mouth to answer, and then decided that for once in his life he should treat the Headmaster seriously. He looked down at his arm, and tried to 'feel' it, somehow, with the magical part of him. Something felt back. Draco nodded slowly.  
  
"There's something," he said. "I don't know what . just . something."  
  
Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"I suspected as much," he said. "That is, after all, the foundation of the Dark Mark. However, I don't think it should prove too great a problem. The purpose of the snake is to bond the mark to the victim. The skull is the central magical factor. He should have no hold on you."  
  
The hand on the desk flipped over, long fingers idly adjusting the edges of parchments. Taking this as a sign, Draco let the fabric of his robes fall back, covering the snake. He sat for a moment, watching Dumbledore, as the old man seemed to stare off at a point just over his right shoulder. Then, suddenly, the eyes snapped back into focus.  
  
"I must ask you a question, Draco," he said. "I trust you will believe me when I say that I mean this as no infringement to your privacy, nor do I presume to tell you what choices to make. It is simply that I am charged to ensure the safety of my students and my staff, and therefore I must know: do you consider yourself a supporter of Lord Voldemort?"  
  
Draco blinked. He had not expected such an abrupt, harsh question from the normally sugar-coated Headmaster. He paused, uncertain as to how to answer.  
  
"My father was," he said slowly. "Is. The Dark Lord's right hand man. He saw me there. He always said, when I was growing up, that I would be important, that I could rise to where he was, that I would be great. He began training me when I was a child. He taught me spells, he taught me how to be. Ever since I was a child, I was going to become the Dark Lord's right hand man. It's something I've always known. I've never had to think about it." He stopped, looked away from Dumbledore.  
  
"Not until last night. They were talking about me like I wasn't there. Father said that he had me ready, as if I was a dog he had spent the last fifteen years training, but he didn't look proud. I always thought he would be proud. But he wasn't. And then the Dark Lord came and asked me if I was ready to join him, but he wasn't really asking. It was a formality, like he needed to hear it from my own lips. But he never thought I'd refuse."  
  
"But you did."  
  
Draco looked up again, trying to see something in the Headmaster's expression; anticipation, gratification, satisfaction, anything, but the countenance was blank.  
  
"Yeah," he said. "I guess I did. I don't know why . it's just that it was like I wasn't a person, I wasn't a son anymore, I was just a thing, another soldier."  
  
Dumbledore continued to look at him, and Draco felt himself laid bare. Apparently he hadn't answered the question yet. He sighed.  
  
"I don't support the Dark Lord," he answered. "I couldn't stand under him. He's twisted, corrupted. His plans don't make sense. He just wants to conquer the world, he hasn't stopped yet to think about what will happen after he's made everyone his slave. I can't just go and fight and not know what's going to happen at the end of it all. But I don't stand against him. He'll kill me in a second, the instant I do, and I value my life a bit too much for that. I won't fight him."  
  
Finally Dumbledore nodded. "You were not born to be a pawn," he said slowly. "You will make your own decisions, and I will hope they find you with me, but if you choose otherwise it will be of your own free will. Thank you."  
  
Draco felt an eyebrow rise.  
  
"Is that it, then, sir?" he asked. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"It is. Unless, of course there is anything you need from me?" Draco shook his head. "I thought not. No, Draco, you may leave. Just, please remember that if you ever need me, for advice or anything else, do not hesitate to find me."  
  
Draco hesitated.  
  
"Thank you, sir," he said finally.  
  
~*~*~  
  
If pressed, Hestia Jones would be forced to admit that she was still not comfortable with Hogwarts. She had attended as a student, naturally, but hadn't entered the halls since, and found it rather strange to be presiding over them. And, as familiar as she was with Albus and his leadership, she wasn't quite prepared for the utter authority he had over her, either. Still, the students did obey her, which Severus said was a rather rare thing, for them. Apparently she still had it in her, after all these years.  
  
When the owl landed on her toast that morning bearing a piece of parchment with the Hogwarts Seal on it, she hadn't expected anything. The twinkle in Albus's eyes gave her some warning when she picked it up, but the message had told her nothing, and so she was still in the dark.  
  
Hestia,  
  
If it does not inconvenience you in any way, I would request that you join me in my office after your classes are over today.  
  
Albus Dumbledore  
  
Well, that was fine and good, but Hestia didn't enjoy being left in the dark. It was not a happy witch who made her way past the gargoyle and up the stone steps into the Headmaster's office.  
  
Voices stopped her at the door.  
  
"Of course not, Severus. Even so, it is unwise to do anything to put yourself on Peeves' bad side - I will speak to him instead. Regardless, it is unlikely he will attempt anything like that again. Chalk dust can only be put into so many cauldrons before it grows tiring."  
  
"Of course, Headmaster," she heard Severus answer, and Hestia stifled a smile. Peeves had been as big a problem during her student years as he was now, but he had always seemed to take a liking towards her, and if anything was cheerful and courteous in her presence. Amused, Hestia opened the door.  
  
Severus spun quickly, one hand slightly outstretched, although he held no want. Hestia raised an eyebrow, and was rewarded with a small shrug, and an easing of tension in his body.  
  
"Ah, Hestia." Albus's smile was also universal, still filled with kindness and a type of ancient magic that scared her to the bone. "I am glad you could make it."  
  
"You knew I would," she answered easily, sitting down in a nearby armchair and crossing her ankles. She looked up at the men. "What is it you wanted to speak to me about?"  
  
Severus glared down at her.  
  
"Yes," he said. "Why is she here? You gave me the impression you wished to discuss . bell curving . the Second Year potions grades."  
  
Albus chuckled slightly.  
  
"Yes, I did. However, as I am sure you can see, there are other matters of importance. And I thought it was unlikely you would want to join me for a cup of tea, so early in the school year, with so much to attend to." His eyebrows rose merrily. Severus grunted, and sat down. "We will begin as soon as the last person joins us."  
  
Severus was on his feet again in an instant.  
  
"Albus," he began, "I really must protest. As you said, it's far too early in the year for you to start one of your plans to 'change Severus's life'. You promised me last year, after the canary incident! And don't try and tell me you're not - there is no way you'd need two people to support you otherwise."  
  
Albus raised one hand.  
  
"Severus," he said with a small laugh, "you do me an injustice. This is nothing so terrible as that, although," he peered critically over his glasses, "I really do think it would have worked out for the best if you had just given it a chance."  
  
Severus glared.  
  
"It ate my Diaphora," he stated.  
  
Albus shrugged slightly.  
  
"Yes, but,"  
  
"It ate my Diaphora," Severus restated. Albus gave in with a sigh.  
  
Hestia couldn't stop the giggle that came out, and found herself suddenly face-to-face with a rather irritated Potion's Master. It didn't help. Amused beyond belief, Hestia tried to let herself sink into the armchair, at the same time remembering to never look ashamed in front of Severus.  
  
Severus continued to glare at her for a moment, then turned back to Albus, who was smiling benignly. There really was no arguing with the man, and Severus seemed to sense it, or more likely realised that he had known it all along, for he sat down with a small huff and stared pointedly at nothing.  
  
At that point, a gentle knock sounded at the door. Albus beamed.  
  
"At last," he said. "Come in, please."  
  
Hestia turned, and felt her face freeze. Before she could force the muscles into the expression of forced cheer, her eyebrows dropped and the corners of her mouth tightened. Then she was back in control again, but she knew he had seen.  
  
Lupin nodded to her. Hestia returned it.  
  
"Albus," she said slowly, "what exactly do you have in mind? Why, exactly, is Remus here?" She could only pray the Headmaster hadn't picked up on her reaction. Prayer was futile. His mouth twitched.  
  
"Please, sit down, Remus," he said instead. "There is something I must show you all." From his desk he took a sheet of paper. Hestia saw a flash of movement before he passed it to Lupin, whose eyes skimmed over it briefly for a moment, taking in every nuance, before he frowned and handed it on to her. She took it without touching him.  
  
It was a newspaper article, from the Daily Prophet. The title stood stark above a black-and-white image of a building, ruined, with bodies scattered on the ground, and a hazy skull floating in the sky. Miniature figures rushed too and fro, and at one point a figure rushed by the front, a screaming face contorted in either pain or grief.  
  
Last night marks the seventh in a series of Death Eater attacks on Muggle Ireland, the target this time being a small pub on the outskirts of Dublin. Ministry officials were alerted to the incident when a passer-by reported a strange green cloud hanging above the district. They were able to move in before the building was razed completely, saving the lives of fifteen civilians, who are now in the St Mungo's Muggle ward for treatment and Obliviation.  
  
This marks the first in the turning of the tide, however. Ministry Officials were able to reach the scene before the Death Eaters had departed, and managed to capture three members before they could flee. The captured Death Eaters have been identified as James Wood, Oliver Vannet, and Marleine De Courcelle. Six others fled the scene, and there are reports of at least two enemy casualties, who have been identified as a Mrs. Susan Blake and a Miss Ebony Starling.  
  
The article continued to describe the mayhem and chaos at the pub, and steps to be taken, and how this was such a wonderful sign. Hestia skimmed over it. She blinked once, and slowly passed the page on to Severus.  
  
The man took it, read it once, quickly, and then again, more slowly. His face was expressionless as he gave the article back to Albus, but his knuckles were almost white on the arm of his chair, clenched so tightly it must have hurt.  
  
"I thought you would like to know," Albus said gently. Severus nodded, and slowly emotion began to fill his face.  
  
"Ebony," he murmured. "She always was headstrong. She wouldn't have run away. I told her she'd get herself into trouble one day, but she wouldn't listen."  
  
Lupin extended one hand.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, in that gentle way that almost made Hestia like him, despite everything else, but Severus brushed it away with a flip of his hand. His face turned hard again.  
  
"Well, that's it, then, isn't it?" he said softly. "This is what we've been waiting for." He looked up at Albus, whose face was an image of sorrow and compassion. The headmaster nodded.  
  
Hestia straightened.  
  
"What are you talking about?" she demanded. "What's going on here?"  
  
It was Severus who answered her, looking her directly in the eye with that piercing gaze of his and silencing anything else she might have said.  
  
"We've been looking for a reason for me to turn against Albus," he said wearily. "Last year when I wasn't with his Death Eaters, Voldemort knew I was against him."  
  
"But Severus is our best spy," Albus continued. Severus ducked his head, slightly, reminding Hestia suddenly of an ashamed schoolboy. "Even without his connection to Voldemort, he is best trained to infiltrate and gather information. Which puts us in an interesting position."  
  
Severus rose to his feet and began to pace slowly.  
  
"Everything we've heard indicates that Voldemort will attack soon," he said.  
  
Hestia nodded.  
  
"Of course," she said. "The only thing he seems to be missing is the first part of the prophecy. Beyond that, once he finds Harry, the entire game will be in his hands."  
  
"That is a problem, though," Lupin commented in his quiet voice. "Finding Harry isn't hard, but getting to him is. The charm on the Dursley's house is still almost unbreakable, and it's highly unlikely that he could get the boy here."  
  
Albus nodded, frowning.  
  
"So it seems, yes," he agreed. "However, he seems to feel that he has the situation under his control, and that is what worries us. Therefore, it is imperative that we have Severus with them once more. I would not send him against his will, but"  
  
"I insisted," Severus finished. "Hestia, your spies are good. You wouldn't choose them if they weren't. But they were never in his upper circle, and I was."  
  
"Of course," Hestia replied. "But, why do you need me?"  
  
"Ah yes." Dumbledore straightened slightly and his gaze snapped sharply to Lupin. "Remus, as I am sure you are aware, three weeks from now there will be a full moon." Lupin nodded. "On that night Voldemort will hold a gathering. I need you and Hestia to accompany him to the gathering. Discreetly, of course."  
  
Once again Hestia froze. She turned slowly to look at Lupin, whose gaze met hers calmly. He was well aware of her dislike for him, and helped to maintain the courteous distance between them. This was not always easy, because of their responsibilities to the Order, and what she felt was certainly not hatred, but the mistrust she felt was too strong to be ignored. As gentle and kind as he seemed, the man was a beast.  
  
Albus cleared his throat softly.  
  
"I trust there will be no difficulties?" he asked.  
  
"Of course not," Lupin answered, and Hestia relaxed. She smiled faintly.  
  
Severus, on the other hand, glared at the Headmaster with a ferocity he normally reserved for potion-spillers. Albus held up one hand  
  
"Severus, I refuse to send you without an escort."  
  
"Headmaster," Severus objected, "If I'm seen running around the forests with a wolf and a witch, the Death Eaters will suspect. They may be evil, but they aren't stupid."  
  
One snowy eyebrow rose.  
  
"Indeed. I wholeheartedly agree with you. Which is why I am not sending you 'running around the forests with a wolf and a witch'." Suddenly, comprehension passed over Albus's face. "You are not aware that Hestia is an animagus, are you?" Severus shook his head slowly, looking suspicious. "Well, perhaps I can help to put an end to your worries. Hestia, if you would be so kind?"  
  
Hestia nodded and rose from her seat. She concentrated for a moment, and the world suddenly grew. Her vision turned grey, and she watched as Severus jumped. Hestia sniffed.  
  
"As you see," Albus said in a rumble that echoed through her, "Hestia's animagus form seems especially suited to this. Thank you, my dear."  
  
Returning to her normal form, Hestia smoothed the folds of her robes and sat down again.  
  
"A wolf." It was Lupin, this time, and Hestia saw an expression in his eyes that suddenly made her pity him.  
  
"And a black one," Severus conceded. "All right, I suppose if you're all convinced, two wolves will not be suspected. But if I find myself facing a mad beast -" he let the sentence hang, glaring at Lupin. He seemed to realise that there was no point in arguing.  
  
Uncharacteristically, Lupin's voice hardened. "If I end up a mad beast," he replied coolly, "it will be because of the potion you brewed for me."  
  
Severus fell silent at last.  
  
~*~*~  
  
"I don't understand it," Hermione said suddenly one afternoon, throwing down the scrap of parchment she had been reading and glaring. Harry looked up from his own work. The Common Room was almost empty, given that it was a Sunday afternoon, and Harry was sitting at one of the large tables with Hermione, Dean, Seamus, and Lavender working on a project for Advanced Magics. Parvati had decided to take Muggle Studies instead, and the two girls always met in tears after their separation.  
  
The course was definitely one of the more interesting ones, Harry thought. Probably because of the name, most students had decided not to take the course, resulting in an interesting meld of Sixth Years from all four houses. The only real negative aspect of this was that it put him in a class with Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and the two Slytherin idiots, Crabbe and Goyle. Still, there seemed to be an unspoken truce in Advanced Magics, and everyone behaved relatively decently.  
  
Another major difference between this and his other classes was that Advanced Magics was taught by Professor Dumbledore. The news had come as a shock to most people, but his cheerful disposition and the ease of his assignments soon overcame any fear of being taught by the headmaster. Everyone thought the class was wonderful, and decided as a group that the real work probably began in Seventh Year.  
  
Until now.  
  
"Now," Dumbledore had said three days ago, closing the book in front of him and folding his hands. His eyes had begun to shine, which experience had always indicated to Harry was a bad thing, and his smile held too much amusement to be safe. "Who here can tell me what an Animagus is?"  
  
Lavender's hand had shot into the air, along with almost everyone else's, and she had beamed when she was chosen to answer.  
  
"An Animagus is a witch who can turn herself into an animal whenever she wants to," she said excitedly. "That would be such fun, wouldn't it? I'd love to be able to turn into a horse!"  
  
Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"You are indeed correct, Miss Brown," he said. "However, a person cannot simply choose which animal they become. Each witch and wizard has an animal already. The Animagus ritual simply brings it out."  
  
Harry had suddenly had difficulties hearing things properly. Memories of his father, and Sirius, had flashed through his head. They'd said it was difficult - almost impossible, in fact. And they had been in their Seventh Years. True, there hadn't been an Advanced Magics class then - it was a recent addition, Hermione had told him - but that didn't chance the facts. And another thought came in on top of that, his father's stag.  
  
Dean's hand rose shakily into the air.  
  
"Are you saying, sir, that we're all going to become Animagi?" Dumbledore had smiled again.  
  
"Indeed, it is," he answered. "It appears that the Ministry of Magic has realised that there are more unregistered Animagi running around than they had thought. They have decided that if I teach you how to do it properly, you will register, and they will know what is going on." His eyes twinkled. "Of course, I cannot make you register. However, they can always hope."  
  
Dean looked nervous, but nodded.  
  
And so it was that the Gryffindor Advanced Magics class was spending a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon huddled around one of the Common Room tables. Becoming an Animagus was as difficult as Sirius had indicated, and Harry was starting to understand why his Godfather had hated it so much. Because the spell was personal, it had to be created by the individual. That took a lot of research, and a lot of soul searching.  
  
On Friday morning Dumbledore had given each of them a round, glass sphere. When properly charmed, he said, the sphere would become their animal.  
  
"But there are no spells to do that," Hermione grated. She looked appealingly at Harry, who shrugged. "I know how to transfigure it into something, but I get the impression that if I do I'll find myself turning into a Turtle-monkey, or something, and . oooooh!" She balled her fists up angrily.  
  
Harry chuckled inwardly. Hermione had many strong points, but creativity and imagination were not often among them.  
  
"Hey," Seamus said, amusement laden in his voice. "That wouldn't be so bad, would it?" He ducked as a quill went flying towards his head. He laughed.  
  
Harry looked over.  
  
"What's the problem, 'Mione?" he asked. She shook her head in frustration.  
  
"This," she said, grandly waving her hand towards the sphere on the table before her. "I've looked at all of the spells I can think of . I think I even invented one that will turn an object into whatever colour it's supposed to be," she giggled, "but I don't know how I'm supposed to create an 'essence of Hermione' spell."  
  
Harry frowned, trying to think of a suggestion. His own research at the moment had him looking at a series of spells, which he thought might be combined to produce something . but he highly suspected that what worked for him might have no effect for her. It was personal, after all. Suddenly, Dean spoke up.  
  
"What about a potion?" he asked softly. "You always were good with potions."  
  
"And transfiguration," Lavender pointed out wistfully. "If I were you I'd just -" she stopped suddenly. "That's it," she gasped. "Well . maybe . I have to go check something." Grinning, she grabbed her sphere and left the room.  
  
Hermione watched her go.  
  
"It wouldn't have to be a charm," she said slowly. She took out her wand and whispered a few words. The sphere shimmered slightly, becoming a miniature statuette of Hermione herself, before returning to its original shape.  
  
Harry shrugged. He'd tired that before, an attempt to simply transfigure the sphere. It never stuck, nor did any of the other basic spells he'd tried.  
  
"Still," Hermione muttered, "it might work. Thanks Dean!" She smiled at him and left.  
  
The black boy looked over at Harry.  
  
"But I didn't do anything," he said, sounding slightly bewildered. Harry shrugged.  
  
"Maybe you helped her with an idea? I don't know . but these bloody things have to be ready for tomorrow's class . and I haven't got the faintest idea of what to do."  
  
Across the table, Seamus's face brightened for a moment. He spun his wand dramatically and then tapped the sphere.  
  
"Me," he said. Nothing happened. He grinned sheepishly. Dean laughed. "Oh well, it was worth a shot."  
  
Eventually, the rest of the Gryffindors packed up their supplies, leaving Harry sitting alone at the table. There was something, he knew, something he almost understood, but couldn't quite. Something he had heard a long time ago . he opened his texts again and started randomly flipping through, hoping that something would appear and show him the answer.  
  
Potions wouldn't help him at all, that was certain. They had never been his strength, although this year he appeared to survive. Snape had been speaking to him less often, at any rate. But the solution to this was inside him, somewhere, so potions were ruled out. Harry was relieved. Transfiguration was also an unlikely solution, at least not on its own. Experience had shown it just didn't work.  
  
Which left him with very few options, really. Wards and Protections gave him no help, nor did Defence, although the idea of the Patronus kept sticking in his mind. Maybe there was something to that, in the end. A Patronus was, after all, his guardian, a piece of his soul.  
  
He didn't notice as the sky outside the window got darker and darker, until his head slipped from his unfeeling hands and landed quite sharply on the table. Harry rose with a start, rubbing his forehead, and looked down at the parchment he had landed on.  
  
Everything clicked.  
  
Written there, in two short sentences, was the answer to all of his problems. Grinning, Harry closed the book, picked up his sphere, and went to bed.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Of course, he didn't get to use his idea that Monday. In fact, when they had come in to Advanced Magics, Dumbledore had seen all of their solutions, smiled, and told them that they should put them away and bring them out in a few weeks.  
  
They had grumbled about it, but speaking honestly people had been relieved to be able to forget about it for the moment. Classes went on.  
  
Two weeks later, Harry was putting away his Potions' supplies after a particularly gruelling lesson. He had, rather predictably, produced an almost-perfect potion, only to have Neville accidentally tip it over just before class. Harry had managed to salvage part of the Anti-Material Potion to hand in, but the rest of it had began to drip slowly over the table, and the stone was slowly losing its form.  
  
"Well, well," a sneering voice had said over his left shoulder, as Snape materialised from the far side of the classroom. "It appears you have a problem. I expect to see no sign of that before you leave this room."  
  
And so, the rest of his class had left, the Slytherins snickering beneath their breaths, and even overtly, and the Gryffindors sending him whispers of sympathy. Snape had, naturally, refused to give him a pass to be late for his next period, which just happened to be Transfiguration. Harry was therefore stuck in the awkward position of knowing he was late for McGonagall's class, and knowing that if he messed up here he would be in more trouble than he wanted to contemplate.  
  
In the midst of all of this, he heard a noise behind him. Before he could react, a word was whispered.  
  
"Legilimens."  
  
No, Harry thought. No, no no no nono. That was not fair. That was beyond not fair. As the veil began to close over his eyes, emotions came bubbling to the surface, urged on by the spell. Anger at being caught by surprise, fear of failure, and above all, hatred towards the man who was causing this. At the edge of his mind, he felt an alien sense of satisfaction and triumph.  
  
'He's pleased,' he thought. 'He knows I'm not ready, he knows he's won.' He was starting to hear things now, the memories coming on. Harry strained to feel what he had felt before, but it wasn't there. Simply a line beginning to cloud his vision, replacing cauldrons with the Hogwarts Grounds as his emotions rolled.  
  
'NO!' Harry decided suddenly. With all the force he had, he repressed his feelings, banishing them instantly. All that remained was the triumph, which slowly turned into something else that Harry couldn't place. Slowly, all of his energy still directed on his emotions, Harry stood and turned around.  
  
"Yes, Professor?" he asked, hearing the strain in his voice, but pleased to note it was still steady. The pressure on his mind vanished.  
  
Snape nodded.  
  
"You almost lost, Potter," he said. "You let yourself be surprised, and angry. That suggests to me that you have not been practising enough. I did warn you to be on constant guard. It is more courtesy than any enemy will give you." He turned away, robes swirling. "Still, you managed some control of yourself, in the end. I suppose it is not beyond hope. Here."  
  
Without glancing back Snape half spun, wand extended. Harry flinched backwards, his grip on his emotions vanishing in an instant, but Snape merely muttered something and the desk returned to normal. Snape gestured at the newly repaired stool.  
  
"Sit," he said curtly.  
  
"But, sir, I have Transfiguration next, and Professor McGonagall won't be happy if I'm late."  
  
Snape clicked his tongue impatiently, looking irritable.  
  
"Unfortunately, the doves that she was having you transfigure into kettles vanished last night. She informed me that this class would therefore be devoted to making up extra homework. Certainly you don't need that?" Snape looked gloating once more.  
  
Harry felt his suspicions rising once more, but Snape waved his hand.  
  
"Rest assured, this was not my doing. Certainly you don't think that I would go to such lengths to be able to work with you during my only free period today? I understand that you seem unable to comprehend the fact that the world does not revolve around you, Potter, but if you could try to restrain your arrogance for a moment, you will be gone that much sooner. Now, sit."  
  
This time, Harry sat. Snape nodded slightly.  
  
"You seem to have an understanding of how to shield your mind from spells," he said grudgingly, looking down at Harry. "You are still horribly untrained, but there seems to be hope for you somewhere. However, most attackers will not simply walk up to you and cast a spell. It is an awkward and generally unnecessary way of gaining access to a person's mind, and only ammeters do it."  
  
Harry looked at him.  
  
"Then, what was -" he began, but Snape glared at him.  
  
"Keep your mouth shut, Potter, unless you have something constructive to say. Which I highly doubt. In answer to your inevitable question, it is not unheard of for an attacker to use the Legilimens spell. It is simply improbable. But one must begin somewhere."  
  
Harry nodded, scowling.  
  
"What is more likely," Snape continued, "Is that an enemy will probe your mind gently at first, to determine your nature. This will give him knowledge as to your immediate feelings, as well as general things you feel strongly about. And, if you are not properly trained, he will be able to determine all of this without you even knowing that he is alive. That training will come.  
  
"First, however, I have been instructed to deal with the more pressing issue. You do not lie well, Potter. Your face is naturally expressive, which many people consider a blessing, perhaps, but in this world it is most certainly not. You are born with few blessings, and more failures than I can count. It is my job to eradicate these failures, and your face is one of them."  
  
Harry cringed, almost physically biting his tongue to keep from replying. Snape watched him, eyebrow rising as he saw the struggle of emotion, and he almost sneered when he received no response. He continued as if nothing had happened.  
  
"Therefore, I will teach you to lie. And I will teach you quickly, as Professor Dumbledore seems to think that it is an important skill for you to master, as soon as possible. This means that you will learn to school your features, and most importantly, you will learn to block out any emotion or thought that works against the lie you are telling."  
  
"How?" Harry asked. This time, the sneer was not hidden.  
  
"You cannot expect me to just tell you it all, Potter. I will tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it. Now, listen carefully to me; I will say this only once, and you should be grateful for the warning that I am giving you. I will ask you questions, in class, in the hallways, and you will lie to me. If I can detect your lie, Gryffindor will lose three points."  
  
Harry almost smiled. There seemed to be a major problem in this theory. If he was supposed to hide the fact that he was lying, Snape wouldn't be able to tell the lie from the truth. The Potions Master smirked.  
  
"Oh," he added, almost conversationally, "I will know the answers to the questions that I ask you. So don't think you can just get away with telling the truth. It won't work."  
  
Harry bolted to his feet.  
  
"But, that's not fair," he exclaimed. Snape laughed mockingly.  
  
"Oh, of course. Forgive me. I'll just go running back to the Death Eaters, now, and tell them that they all have to give you plenty of warning, because otherwise it won't be fair." His eyes were hard, now, his voice whip-like. "Get this into your head, Potter. This is not fair. It never will be. You will either play by my rules, or you will die. What House are you in?"  
  
It was a question, Harry registered dimly, somewhere in the recesses of his mind. As his mouth opened, he realised that he had to lie.  
  
"Um . uh . Ravenclaw."  
  
Snape's face was cruel.  
  
"That has to be one of the worst lies I have ever been told. Your eyes rolled up, you paused; you may as well have scrawled 'lie' on to your forehead with permanent ink! This is hopeless. Three points from Gryffindor, for lying to a teacher. Now go. You've wasted enough of my time as it is."  
  
Flustered, Harry gathered together his supplies and left the Potions' Room as quickly as possible. Snape was cruel, he decided, with renewed vengeance, and then suddenly realised that that might not be a good thing to do. For all he knew, the greasy bastard was watching his emotions even now .  
  
"Bloody Hell," he swore softly, earning himself a startled gasp from a group of Ravenclaw students. Harry winced and continued moving.  
  
Still, there had been something. In the middle of all of his criticism, Snape had given him two bits of advice. Disguised as insults, naturally, but they were there. If he listened to everything the man said, maybe he'd learn something. But it would be a lot more difficult than just getting instructions, nice and simply, the way any decent human gives them. Harry had the sneaking suspicion that he would lose Gryffindor a lot of points before he got the hang of things.  
  
~*~*~  
  
The first official Quidditch practice of the season happened later on that week, much to Harry's relief. With the increased workload of NEWT courses he had found less time to spend on his own, and hadn't managed yet to get onto the Quidditch pitch. It was still pleasantly warm outside, and the new team dressed quickly, making their way into the room that joined the two lockers - the counsel room, of sorts. Ron was standing in the middle, looking slightly nervous, and seeming like he didn't quite know what to say to Ginny and Natalie, who had changed quickly and were sitting on the benches, smiling at him.  
  
When the boys arrived he looked relieved, and he straightened noticeably.  
  
"Right," Ron said, clearing his throat twice. "Welcome to the Gryffindor team, everyone. This is the first practice, so we'll take it slowly for now. Do some group stuff, and then we'll break off into groups, working more specific things. We can have the quaffle and a bludger, Harry, you can make do with the golf balls again."  
  
Harry nodded. Ron grinned.  
  
"All right, then, what are we waiting for? Let's get going." He picked up his broom and went out onto the pitch. "Everyone follow me to start off with, then we'll split." He mounted and took off, the rest of the team following in a line, with Harry taking the rear.  
  
For a moment he simply enjoyed the thrill of being on a broom again, with the wind in his hair, supported by the clouds. At that point, it seemed like all of his troubles were sitting with the Ball Chest, small and insignificant, a long way beneath him. He followed Seamus, ahead of him, without thinking, and slowly let himself tune into what was happening.  
  
Ron led them through a series of loops, dives, spirals, and practised skimming low to the ground, maintaining a steady altitude. Harry noticed that Dennis seemed to be having problems with this, and kept shooting upwards sporadically. They even spent thirty seconds flying upside down, which irritated Ginny no end, because she had just fixed her hair to her liking. Following that, Colin gave the team a spectacular demonstration of how a person can completely wipe out in an attempt at the Wronski Feint, and live to tell the tale. He stood and bowed as the rest of the team, or those who weren't currently engaged in a dive or roll of some sort, gave him a round of applause.  
  
After that they broke up into smaller groups according to position, and Harry spent the first few minutes circling the pitch, watching. Colin and Dennis were working together, hitting the bludger back and forth between them with remarkable accuracy, and occasionally sending the black iron ball spinning off towards some unsuspecting Chaser, with loud cries of warning and profuse apologies. Harry doubted that poor Andrew had ever been so close to dead in his life before, and was quite impressed by the brilliant shades of red the Creevey brothers managed to produce.  
  
Ron had personally taken control of the Chasers, who were methodically working their way through different drills, while his tried with varying degrees of success to block their attacks. The Gryffindor defence could be improved, Harry noted, but Ron had improved drastically from last year, and it was evident that he had control over his movements, even if they weren't always good enough.  
  
Finally, Ron caught his eye and indicated with his head towards Natalie Macdonald, who was also coasting rather aimlessly.  
  
'She's with you,' he mouthed, completely over-exaggerating the syllables to the point where Harry could barely comprehend what he was saying. He then pointed towards the golf balls on the ground, and completely missed the quaffle that went sailing by his head. Harry nodded and went to get them.  
  
He and Natalie spent the rest of the practice working together with the golf balls. What started off originally as a simple game of Catch rapidly evolved to the point where they hurled the things as hard as they could in an obscure direction, sending the other person racing across the pitch to grab it before it hit the ground or another player. Natalie had some skill, Harry thought, as he pulled up from a steep dive with the small white ball in his fist. It had seemed like it would be a problem at first, with no other students taking an interest in the Seeker position, but maybe they stood a chance when his Year graduated. If they could find another Keeper and a Chaser.  
  
Suddenly, Harry noticed movement on the ground. He held up his hand to stop Natalie from throwing the next ball, and hovered in the air, watching. Beneath him, seven dots of green and silver were making their way onto the pitch; Slytherins. Harry dropped lower, and the rest of the team did the same, until he could hear them.  
  
"What do you want?" Ron demanded harshly.  
  
Malfoy shrugged.  
  
"You have an interesting strategy," he replied instead of answering. "It seems to have some . potential. Although, I hadn't thought it was common policy to wipe out your own players with the bludgers. Dear me, I must be falling behind the times." He smirked.  
  
"Bugger off, Malfoy," Ron retorted. "This is our practice session, and we've booked a double period, so you're not allowed to be out here."  
  
"We're not even allowed to cheer on our comrades in arms?" Malfoy asked, oozing innocence. "What a sad world we live in, when two friendly rivals can't speak on civil terms." His sneer came back. "Well, if that's the case, Weasel, then get off the pitch. Slytherin has the next session, so clear out."  
  
Ron looked furious.  
  
"What?" he demanded.  
  
"Oh, didn't you know?" Malfoy looked gleeful. "We spoke to Madam Hooch, you see. She agreed with us - it's quite unfair for you to have the two best sessions of the day. She changed the booking, you can check and see if you want to."  
  
Helplessly Ron looked over at Harry, who shook his head. His hands were clenched tightly around the handle of his broom, knuckles white.  
  
"He wouldn't go to all this trouble and risk his precious stuck-up neck if he were lying, Ron," he cautioned. "The bastard probably said something to Madam Hooch."  
  
Ron growled.  
  
"Well, fine then," he bit off. "But this session isn't over yet, not for another four minutes. Come on, guys, we're not going to lose any more time because of these lying snakes." With that he urged his broom higher, beckoning his Chasers up with him.  
  
What happened next was something of a blur to Harry. He had turned his broom upwards and was going to head back to where he had been practising with Natalie when there was a sudden noise to his left. He vaguely heard Dennis shouting something at him, and then suddenly he felt an explosive pain in his left shoulder as a bludger connected solidly with bone. His left hand convulsed, losing its grip on the broom, and suddenly Harry was falling from an unimaginable height.  
  
In that instant, everything stopped. He couldn't move, and his wand was in his robes, back in the changing room. Harry knew with a deadly certainty that he was going to die. Which was really rather unfortunate, he thought, because he'd had some plans for life. Who was going to destroy Lord Voldemort now?  
  
And then he remembered something. At the beginning of last year, in the alley, with Dudley and the Dementors. He remembered dropping his wand. Scrabbling frantically for some form of protection. A whispered spell, said without hope, and light blossoming suddenly a foot away from his hand.  
  
But that had been different. His wand had been right beside him, and the spell had been a simple one, that didn't use much power. Now he was completely stranded, and he didn't think any basic spell would be able to help him. Even so, his choices seemed to be limited. He realised that the ground was closing fast, and people had only just realised what had happened, it was all so quick. He could try and rely on them to stop him, but the only people who might have wands were the Slytherins, who all seemed to be content to let him die. That aside, his options seemed to be try, or die.  
  
And then it all sped up again. Frantically, with visions of the earth rising up to meet him and unimaginable speeds, Harry pointed at himself, focussed everything he had, and cried, "Wingardium Leviosa!"  
  
For an instant nothing happened. Harry closed his eyes and waited for the drop. Then, suddenly, he realised that his fall had slowed. He landed with a jarring bump, in a painful heap on the ground, but he landed alive.  
  
The noise came back, then, and the sounds of the girls screaming. The Slytherins chuckled, and someone behind him was asking him desperately if he was all right. And then, just in front of him, he saw Dumbledore.  
  
"Very interesting," was all he said, with an unfathomable expression on his face. "Very interesting indeed. Well, Harry, I think you ought to be very proud of yourself. Very interesting."  
  
And then Harry fainted. 


	5. et promove, ad res novas et meliora

Preface: A thousand and seven apologies to anyone and everyone who had to wait for this. My life became suddenly, horribly busy for the last four months, to the point where I actually didn't have time to write for two months straight. Then I went to Quèbec, where I remain now, but I thought I owed it to at least some of you people to post a chapter, finally. It's barely been betad, so if there are mistakes anywhere, please let me know.  
  
Expect the next chapter by the end of the summer. I will do my utmost best to make it happen, and anyone can hit me with whatever they want if I don't.  
  
Besides that, reviews are always welcome.  
  
And On, to New and Better Things  
  
et promove, ad res novas et meliora  
  
The Hospital Wing was a familiar place for Harry. He couldn't count the number of times he'd woken up there with a muggy head, and this was just another one of them. Light was streaming in through the windows behind him, and the room was silent. Perhaps if he got out of his bed quietly, he could be on his way without anyone noticing.  
  
He sat up cautiously, and the world spun. Biting back a groan, Harry lowered himself back down to the mattress, wondering exactly what had happened. After a moment he prepared himself to try again, but a noise from out of sight made him stay where he was.  
  
The sound of footsteps drew nearer, and a shadow fell across Harry's line of sight.  
  
"Come, now," Madam Pomfrey chided. "You've been here for scarcely a month and you're already in to visit me? Don't think I've ever had anyone love me that much, to see me as often as you do." She paused. "Well, excepting one person, perhaps, but he was just a hopeless case, and doesn't bear mentioning. Broke his leg walking down a corridor!"  
  
Harry snickered, and she gave him a hard look.  
  
"But you're hardly one to laugh, Mister Potter. You took quite a nasty tumble on the field, they tell me. Don't know how you managed to survive, falling from the height you did, but whatever happened, you're still in pretty rough shape. And what on earth happened to your shoulder?" She looked at him critically.  
  
"Bludger," Harry replied. Madam Pomfrey nodded.  
  
"That explains it," she said. "Always said Quidditch was a dangerous sport. More than half of the injuries I get in here have something to do with that game, in one way or another. Now, you hold still for this, or I'll have to Bind you."  
  
Harry nodded and watched as Madam Pomfrey waved her wand in an intricate pattern above him. A soft blue mist appeared, and gently settled over his body, as the myriad of aches and pains vanished, leaving him with only a headache and a knot of agony in his shoulder that seemed to be permanent. The witch stared at him for a moment, shook her head, and moved around to his left side. A silver tray bearing a variety of tools and potions followed her like an obedient puppy.  
  
"Tell me if this hurts at all," she said in a cautionary tone, peering down at Harry. He nodded again, wincing inwardly. However, she simply muttered something under her breath and tapped his shoulder with her wand. A warm sensation infused his entire left side, and then faded. Harry rotated his shoulder gently.  
  
"Anything?" Madam Pomfrey asked. Harry shook his head, and she smiled. "There usually isn't, but every now and then you find someone who doesn't react well to that spell. There are other ones to do the same job, of course, but that's the best, especially if you want to be up and about afterwards. No, stay down, Mister Potter. You'll have a smarting headache, if I'm not wrong, and if you get up too quickly you could find yourself face down on the floor."  
  
Reaching behind her, she took a small bottle filled with a clear liquid from the silver tray. She tapped it with her wand, and a small quantity of the liquid floated up, hanging in the air. With another wave of her wand a goblet of pumpkin juice appeared, and she dropped the crystal drops into it.  
  
"Drink up."  
  
Harry took the goblet and drank the liquid inside. Whatever the addition had been, it did nothing to the taste, and he finished it quickly.  
  
Madam Pomfrey stood over him, watching as he handed the goblet back to her. It vanished in a puff of smoke, and the matron nodded.  
  
"I suppose that's all I can do for you," she said briskly. "Your shoulder will be tender for a while, so if you can keep from using it for the next two or three days, maybe I won't have to see you again. The rest will help your head, too."  
  
Sighing, she shook her head and stepped away from the bed.  
  
"If I had my way you wouldn't be out of here for at least the rest of the day, but the Headmaster said he needed to see the Upper School as soon as I could get you back on your feet, so I suppose there's nothing to be done." She fixed him a glare worthy of McGonagall at her worse. "Go easy on yourself, Mister Potter," she warned. "If I have to see you back here again I'll not be pleased. Now go on."  
  
She seemed to be in no hurry to leave, and Harry felt awkward for a moment, until he realised he still had his Quidditch Robes on underneath the blankets. He sat up slowly, and found to his surprise that the world stayed firmly in place. His shoes were lined up neatly on one side of the bed, and he slipped into them.  
  
"Thanks," he said to Madam Pomfrey, who nodded at him and waved her hand dismissively.  
  
"Off with you, now," she said, and Harry complied.  
  
The hospital wing was near the main hallways, and he immediately heard the sound of people talking quietly, laughing under their breath. He caught up with a group of Fifth-Year Hufflepuffs who were headed to the Great Hall and followed them in. At the end of the Gryffindor Table he found the rest of his House, and he rushed to sit down with them.  
  
"What's going on?" he asked, looking at Hermione. She looked at him excitedly.  
  
"I'm not exactly certain," she said in a hushed tone, "but I think something special is going to be happening soon. I overheard Professor McGonagall talking to Professor Flitwick as they were going up to the High Table, and she said something about it being almost unheard of, and he mentioned something about an excellent learning experience."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes, toying with a napkin laid out for the next meal.  
  
"I hope they hurry it up," he muttered. "I was in the middle of playing a game of chess against Adrian Gasber, you know, the Fourth-Year kid? He's really quite good, you know. But his pieces are new, and I think if we're gone for too long they might get it into their little pumice heads to help him out a bit, you know? Cheat? And my pieces wouldn't stand for it – it'd be a shame if they got smashed."  
  
He shook his head sadly. Hermione laughed.  
  
"Is that all?" she asked. "From the way you were looking on the way down, I thought it was something horrible." Ron glared at her. "Oh, don't worry. I'm sure the Headmaster won't keep up long – look, there he is now. This shouldn't take a moment, probably just a new curriculum announcement. Or do you suppose they found another replacement Divination teacher?"  
  
Whatever else Hermione suspected never got said, because at that moment McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged a look, and then the Deputy Headmistress tapped her wand against a glass. As the sound echoed through the hall, the quiet chatter fell silent.  
  
Dumbledore rose.  
  
"Is this the entire Upper School?" he asked quietly. There was a hurried murmur as people checked around, and a hand rose at the Hufflepuff table only to be lowered again quickly with an embarrassed squeak. Slytherin snickered.  
  
"Good, good," Dumbledore continued. "I am terribly sorry to take you all from your weekends, believe me. However, something has come up that I feel must be addressed. To do so will take an awfully long time, I am afraid, so in the interest of timeliness I must ask you all to indulge me in a small experiment."  
  
Neville tapped Harry on the shoulder.  
  
"What kind of experiment?" he asked quickly. "You don't think he'll do anything dangerous, do you?"  
  
Harry shook his head.  
  
"This is Dumbledore," he replied with a laugh. "He wouldn't want to do anything serious to us."  
  
"It wouldn't look very good on the school record," Hermione pointed out from across the table. "'Hogwarts Upper School Turned to Guinea Pigs, Parents in Horrid Tizzy.' Can't you just see the headline?"  
  
Neville seemed to relax somewhat. The sound of glass echoed once more.  
  
Dumbledore cleared his throat.  
  
"If everyone would be so kind as to form a line beside me, facing that door there, I would be much obliged." He gestured with his wand to the small door behind the staff tables that Harry had gone through in his Fourth Year. What on earth was going on, he wondered.  
  
Slowly students rose, and managed to arrange themselves in a relatively neat line that snaked its way around the tables almost from one end of the hall to the other. It passed the Gryffindor table somewhere near the middle, and so Harry, who was right in between Neville and Seamus, couldn't make out anything more than three feet in front of him.  
  
The line made its stately way forwards, with students gathering once more around the tables once their turn had passed, watching the proceedings. Twice, the wooden door opened, and a student went through. The remainder of the time, things went quite quickly, until it was Hermione standing beside Dumbledore. Harry stepped out of the line slightly to watch.  
  
"If you will give me your wand for a moment, please?" Dumbledore asked politely, and Hermione took her wand from her robes and gave it to him. Dumbledore placed it behind his back. "Thank you, Miss Granger. Now, unlock the door."  
  
Hermione stared at him.  
  
"Excuse me, sir?" she asked, confused. Dumbledore smiled at her.  
  
"Just try, my dear. Unlock the door."  
  
The look Hermione gave him clearly indicated that she didn't think anything would happen. However, she shrugged her shoulders and approached the door. Taking a deep breath, she placed one hand on the doorknob.  
  
"_Alohamora_," she said. Nothing happened for a moment, and Hermione had just begun to turn away, when there was an audible 'click', and the door opened. Smiling warmly, Dumbledore passed her wand back to her, and sent her through the door with a wave of his hand.  
  
He waited for a moment, and Harry heard the sound of the door locking once more. With a satisfied nod, the Headmaster beckoned Ron forwards. After taking his wand, he give the redhead the same instructions.  
  
Ron grinned at him and touched the door, saying the spell quickly. Nothing happened. After a further two attempts, Dumbledore gave his wand back to him and indicated for him to move on.  
  
"You should perhaps be relieved that you did not pass through," he said kindly as Ron moved on. "It was, all told, rather fortunate."  
  
Ron nodded to him, and moved on.  
  
"I'd stay and wait for you," he told Harry as he passed him, "but we both know what's going to happen. And anyways, if I don't get upstairs soon Adrian's chess pieces will be dust. I'll see you in the Common Room."  
  
Harry nodded and watched him leave. Ahead of him, Neville seemed to be having no better luck than Ron had, and then took his wand back with a relieved sigh. When he walked away, Harry found himself face to face with Dumbledore.  
  
"This is my fault, isn't it?" he asked. The Headmaster smiled kindly and shook his head.  
  
"There is no blame here, Harry," he answered. "It was inevitable. Now, you don't have your wand with you, do you?"  
  
Harry frowned, and realised suddenly that it was still with his regular robes, in the changing rooms by the Quidditch Pitch.  
  
"No, sir," he answered. Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"In that case, I believe you know what to do."  
  
The memory of the alleyway still in the back of his mind, Harry gestured towards the door and whispered the spell. He could sense his wand, hundreds of yards away on the other side of the castle. There was a click, and the door opened. Dumbledore smiled at him and waved him through.  
  
Harry blinked as the light became suddenly dim. Susan Bones, Lisa Turpin, and Hermione were seated on a bench, and off to one side he could see Lupin standing quietly.  
  
"If you could lock the door again?" he asked.  
  
Harry looked back at the door, gestured again, and cast a basic locking spell. The door closed and he heard an invisible bolt being drawn. At Lupin's satisfied nod, he went over to the benches and sat down.  
  
He had scarcely done so when the door creaked open to reveal Seamus, looking as shocked as Harry thought a person could look. He took his wand with numb fingers and walked through the door with an amazed look on his face, handing his wand to Lupin to lock the door behind him before sitting down beside Harry.  
  
"What in bloody hell just happened?" he asked. "I didn't know I could do that."  
  
They sat in silence for a long time, and although the sound of footsteps was continuous past the doorway, and Dumbledore's quiet instructions continued to filter through, the door remained closed. Even Lupin was beginning to look tired when suddenly they all heard the click, and Harry and Seamus exchanged a look of disgust.  
  
Grinning smugly, Malfoy locked the door behind him and made his way over to the farthest bench available. Minutes later, Blaise Zabini followed him in, sitting with him and looking disparagingly at the other students. Both began to look more and more disappointed when it seemed apparent that no other Slytherins would make it in. The next time the door opened, Terry Boot entered, giving Lisa a look of relief and pride. Hannah Abbot followed him some time later, grinning at Susan, who smiled back. The last person to make it through was a terrified and exhilarated-looking Ginny, who searched the room frantically for a moment before sitting herself beside Hermione, whispering under her breath.  
  
Lupin looked at the group, murmuring something under his breath, and then nodded.  
  
"That's about right," he said softly, and although they waited a few minutes longer, there was nothing on the other side.  
  
The door opened once more, and Dumbledore stepped over the threshold, smiling. He adjusted his robes, and flicked a hand to the torches on the walls. The light they gave off brightened.  
  
"Much better," Dumbledore commented. He looked at the collection of students gathered before him and his smile broadened. His gaze lingered on Ginny for a moment, and he nodded, and then spread his hands and addressed the group.  
  
"I told you just a short while ago that there was an issue that needed to be addressed. As I am certain most of you already know, Harry had an ... incident, shall we say, on the Quidditch pitch. What you may or may not know, is that he saved his own life by performing a stunning example of wandless magic. The rest of you have done the same, just now, when you opened the door."  
  
From the far side of the room, Blaise yawned delicately behind one hand. The Headmaster turned, looking at her critically, and she melted back against the stones, looking down at the floor.  
  
"Wandless magic is a rare ability," Dumbledore continued. "Very few people in the world would be able to boast that skill – well, many could boast it, but very few would be telling the truth. It is an ability that indicates an unusually high amount of core magical ability."  
  
"Does that mean we're more powerful?" Terry asked delicately. Dumbledore shook his head.  
  
"No," he replied. "It means that you are Virini. The amount of core magic a wizard – or witch – has does not determine the number of spells he – or she – will be able to perform, or how successful she – or he – will be in life. With the right amount of training and dedication, one can master almost anything. However, very few have the strength to perform magic without an amplifier. A wand."  
  
By Harry, Hermione looked like she was ready to burst. Dumbledore looked at her kindly, and then continued.  
  
"This is a gift," he said. "And it is one that must be trained, lest it run away with you."  
  
"But sir," Hermione pointed out, "We don't have time. We scarcely have time for classes as it is."  
  
Dumbledore looked at her, and then over his shoulder to Lupin. He frowned, brows coming together as he thought. The fingers of one hand toyed with the cuff of his robe. Finally he smiled.  
  
"You Gryffindors take History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs, do you not?" he asked. Hermione looked over at Hannah Abbot and nodded. "And at the same time, Ravenclaw and Slytherin have a study period, if my memory still serves me." He sighed. "Although I dislike having to do this, I think that at the present time, this takes priority over that class. Therefore, you will all meet me in the classroom opposite the statue of Elgar the Eldritch when you would normally report for that class. I shall speak with Professor Binns."  
  
Malfoy rose to his feet.  
  
"But, sir, that's not fair," he protested. "We lose a study period, and they get to miss History of Magic! That gives us twice the work."  
  
Dumbledore looked surprised.  
  
"Ravenclaw and Slytherin students may, of course, take a study period when your Houses normally take History of Magic. You thought I would be so unfair?" A snowy eyebrow rose, and Malfoy sat down again, looking embarrassed. Dumbledore turned to Ginny.  
  
"And you, Miss Weasley. I fear I do not know your schedule, but if you would be so kind as to stop by and visit me in my office I am certain we can sort something out." She nodded. "And naturally, I will speak with Professor Binns about a way to make up what you will miss. All well and good. And now, I think I have taken up more than necessary of your Saturday, so please, do go and enjoy the remainder of this beautiful day. I will see you all on Monday."

"It's rather strange, isn't it?" Hermione said as they made their way back up to the Gryffindor Tower. "That there are two Virini from the other three Houses, and four from Gryffindor."  
  
Harry looked at her.  
  
"Two what?" he asked. She gave him an exasperated look.  
  
"Virini. Witches and wizards who can practice wandless magic. Oh, for goodness sakes," she exclaimed, seeing the blank expression on his face. "It was mentioned in a chapter Professor McGonagall assigned us last year, and at least twice in Charms. Seamus, surely you remember?"  
  
Seamus spread his hands helplessly. Hermione shook her head.  
  
"You're all hopeless," she said with an air of finality.  
  
"But, you do have a point. And, why is Ginny the only one not in Sixth Year?"  
  
Hermione paused with one foot about to hit a stair and looked at Harry thoughtfully.  
  
"You're right," she said. "You'd think there would be some Seventh Years, in one of the other houses. And perhaps some Fifth Years as well. It's strange that it's so clustered like that." She continued her movement, walking ahead of the rest, pausing occasionally to think. Ginny looked uncomfortable. "It's not like our parents are all the same age, or anything," she mused. "So it couldn't be anything like that."  
  
"Yours are Muggles," Seamus added.  
  
"Maybe there was something in the stars?" Ginny suggested. Harry saw Hermione catch the withering glare before it could be directed at the younger girl. "We could talk to Firenze later on, he might know something. Raavi," she added to the Fat Lady.  
  
The woman in the portrait looked down at them. Smoothing her dress, she smiled down at them and the portrait swung open. Harry followed behind the other three as they climbed through the hole and into the common room, which appeared to be deserted.  
  
It made sense, on a Saturday Afternoon, especially with the weather still pretending to be summer. The entire school seemed to be outside, and Harry remembered that there was an unofficial game of Strategy, the wizarding equivalent of Capture the Flag, scheduled for that afternoon. Everyone would be there, except for the ... what was Hermione's word ... Virini, who'd undoubtedly missed the placement of the targets when Dumbledore called the meeting.  
  
That was fine, though. Harry thought he could use some time alone to contemplate things. The fact that he wasn't the only one to be able to do this was something unusual and strangely heartening. And the tendencies Hermione had noticed also bore reckoning.  
  
A voice from behind startled him.  
  
"Ginny. You got in? Brilliant, sis. Way to go." Ron got up from the armchair he had been sitting in, giving his sister a hug and a smile. It seemed slightly frayed.  
  
Ginny returned it, and the hug as well, before clearing her throat awkwardly. Her expression was cautious.  
  
"I think I'm going to head up to the dorms, and then see if I can catch the rest of the game," she said. "Anyone interested?"  
  
Seamus looked at Ron, then at Harry and Hermione, Ginny, and back to Ron again. He cleared his throat.  
  
"Sounds good," he said. "Give me a second to put on a different robe, and then I'll come with you."  
  
Both left the common room quickly, and Harry got a sudden premonition that things would not progress smoothly from here.  
  
Ron watched them leave. His hands clenched at his sides, and he spun to face Harry.  
  
"Oh," he exclaimed. "This is bloody brilliant. Congratulations, mate. You too, 'Mione. I guess I'll just go sit off in a corner now, shall I, and play with my wand."  
  
Hermione's hands flew up in front of her, as if she was trying to deflect Ron's words.  
  
"No," she said quickly. "Ron, don't do this. Please don't be upset ... it's nothing."  
  
Ron shook his head.  
  
"Nothing," he repeated. "Of course, nothing. Not for you, is it. No, you've always been there, haven't you? You've always been there, with something to take credit for, no matter what. And now you're going to be an Animagus, you and Harry ... Seamus told me about that little project, but I'm not Advanced Magics material." He ran a hand through his hair, dishevelling it. "But that's not enough, is it. Nothing's ever enough, now you've got to go and become something else."  
  
"We didn't choose it!" Hermione exclaimed. She looked over at Harry, who shook his head. Speaking now would only get him killed.  
  
Ron laughed.  
  
"Of course not," he said bitterly. "That's what makes it okay. You didn't choose to leave me behind. But here I am, anyways, sitting in your shadow again. Both of yours."  
  
This time Harry felt like he had to do something. He took a step towards Ron.  
  
"Don't get upset with Hermione," he said. Ron looked at him.  
  
"Why not?" he demanded. "We all know you're going to shine. It's in your job description – Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived. Okay, so it pisses the hell out of me, but you've taken your share of knocks, I guess." Something in his voice indicated that this didn't mean he wasn't angry. "But I just don't get how this all works with you." He turned to face Hermione. "What've you done that's so monumentally different from me? Why do you deserve any of this?"  
  
Hermione's face fell. She stood silent, hair falling forwards to curtain her face. Harry thought he saw her shoulders tense, and then she looked up with an impossibly bright smile on her face.  
  
"Maybe I'll go and see what Ginny and Seamus are up to," she said cheerfully, as if absolutely nothing had happened. She turned to Harry. "I'll see you for dinner, all right?"  
  
And with that she was gone.  
  
Harry turned to look at Ron. The redhead looked as if he was caught somewhere between satisfaction and mortification. He held up a hand when he felt Harry's gaze.  
  
"Don't say anything," he said in a voice dripping with resentment. "I don't want to hear it. Whatever you were going to say. I don't give a damn." He looked up. "My bloody sister!" he exclaimed, balling his hands. "Why is it never me?"  
  
And then he, too, turned and stormed out of the room, leaving a very confused Harry standing in the middle of an empty Common Room feeling, for some odd reason, like it was up to him to sort it all out.

The Department of Mysteries was silent, now. The Aurors had long gone, pronouncing it safe enough, all things considered. Repairs had been made, doors locked, and now the silence was free to settle again over everything it could touch. A faint patina of dust already coated even the newest treasures, and the smell of mildew was insinuating itself once more into everything.  
  
There were no windows in the Department of Mysteries. In some cases, items there were so sensitive that a beam of light could cause something to shatter, or set off an array of spells to destroy the building. A single drop of rain would be the undoing of several things. And sometimes, the secret of the objects was too great to risk accidental exposure.  
  
So there was no wind. There was no movement of bodies to shift the position of the air, no accidental gusts that were the inevitable result of a sneeze, or a cough, or a sniff, or a breath. With the silence and the dust came a stillness that was as present as a person. Nothing moved.  
  
Except in one room.  
  
There, locked behind a door that still bore a flaming X charred into the wood, at the centre of a tiered pit, a ragged black curtain suspended in an ancient stone arch swayed slightly, as if moved by a slight wind. The area around the curtain, around the arch, was completely empty for a time, unremarkable except for the curtain.  
  
And then a man appeared. He looked around the room with obvious distaste, before his eyes fell on the curtain. He moved quickly to the arch, walked around it, searching for something. When he couldn't seem to find it, he looked back to the shimmering black cloth, and nodded once. With one hand he drew his wand from his robes. With the other he pushed back the curtain and spoke three words.  
  
The archway shimmered.  
  
What was once a clear view through to the other side of the amphitheatre darkened, shifted, to reveal a pile of bodies. All were still, faces relaxed, as if they were sleeping. The man was under no such illusions. Death left its own mark on the bodies of those it claimed.  
  
The variety was quite interesting, he noted briefly. He could see from the corner of his eye the pristine robes of a woman who could not have been born in the last century, if the style of her robes were any indication. A man still wearing an elaborate powdered wig lay with his head on her ample bosom. Pity neither of them could enjoy it.  
  
And there, on the top of the pile, was the man he had come for. Arched backwards, face still wearing an expression of sleepy confusion, Sirius Black held his wand loosely in one hand, the other touching the corner of a small rectangular mirror. The man smiled and gestured with his wand. The body rose slowly, and the mirror dropped from numbed fingertips.  
  
When the body was clear, the man let go of the curtain, and the world beyond shimmered away when the cloth fell back into place. Then, he was gone, and the room was empty again, save for the fluttering curtain.Draco knew something was wrong the instant he found himself standing in the dark. The robes he was wearing didn't feel like his school robes, nor like anything his father had purchased for him. The material was fine, almost airy, in a way that would have been perfect if the entire scene hadn't screamed "get the fuck out of here before you're turned into buttered toast"! He pushed the disconcerting feeling out of his mind for the moment, and tried to make out any differentiation in the black.  
  
Slowly, very slowly, a point of light appeared. It continued to expand at a halting pace, illuminating in bursts of stone and iron, until Draco could make out a figure, a profile silhouetted. As the darkness crept back into the corners, another, smaller figure appeared, facing the first. Draco saw long hair, a slender build, nothing he could recognise. Then the voices started to come.  
  
"Really, they're both quite stupid," a young, female voice commented, and the smaller figure made an impatient gesture. "You'd think by now, after everything, they'd be more suspicious. Especially him."  
  
The taller figure laughed, and suddenly there was no more doubt as to who it was. Draco would forget Voldemort's voice when he died, perhaps. If then. Certainly not before.  
  
"Take the gifts you receive with gratitude, my child, but be wary of them. Although it unlikely that any would have the skill to act with such deceit, we must never count on the stupidity of our enemies." His voice turned bitter, and the girl nodded.  
  
"Of course, my Lord," she said.  
  
Draco glared at them. Her voice was familiar, curse it. Not enough to recognise, just enough to send off tingling sensations in his brain, that if he had paid closer attention to some little nobody in the halls he would know who he was now dealing with. He leaned in, trying to hear more, something that would place her.  
  
"You believe that they do not suspect you, then?" the Dark Lord asked. The girl nodded.  
  
"They've given no sign that they have, and I think that's all I can go on. There would be other ways, but with all the wards around the castle I don't want to risk anything more."  
  
"Indeed. It would be something of an inconvenience to lose you to Dumbledore, and I would if you were caught. The chances of them suspecting you are minimal, and if they do, I suppose I can always kill you myself."  
  
The silhouette of the girl started slightly, and then nodded.  
  
"Of ... of course, my lord."  
  
Merlin, Draco thought. Whatever the Dark Lord had done, he had her wrapped around his little finger. The way he had everyone. Draco shook his head.  
  
And it was as if that motion was a trigger for everything. The spark of light brightened further, split into four sparks, that dashed to illuminate the four corners of what Draco now saw as a small, windowless stone room. Score three points for originality.  
  
He blinked rapidly to adjust to the sudden increase in light, and when his vision cleared the girl was gone, and Wormtail was there.  
  
Damn, he thought. There was absolutely no way things could go well.  
  
And, true to form, the Dark Lord turned to face him directly, a cold smile creeping across his face like an alien worm. His eyes narrowed in some obscure pleasure, and Draco could hear him breathing deep breaths, as if he was trying to take in the world through his nostrils. Draco shuddered. Not something he wanted to think about.  
  
"Young Malfoy," Lord Voldemort said in the hiss that seemed to be his voice. "I trust I have not kept you waiting for long?"  
  
Draco frowned, realised he was frowning, and glared.  
  
"What do you want from me?" he demanded. "I thought I'd made it clear I want nothing to do with you and your Death Eaters." Blast it all. Now was _not_ the time to sound like a Malfoy. Not when talking to the man who controlled your father. Certainly not with the man who happened to be an all-powerful, slightly insane dark wizard with plans for global annihilation. But there was nothing to be done. Draco looked up and met his gaze.  
  
The Dark Lord looked vaguely wounded. Draco was surprised that the earth didn't switch rotation around its axis. Voldemort was shaking his head sadly, one hand resting ostensibly over his heart.  
  
"You wound me," he said. "I told you before that I would not force you to me. You are too powerful for me to keep with me, if you are not loyal, and I have neither the time nor inclination to keep you under the Imperius curse."  
  
Draco blinked. He hadn't even thought of that as a possibility.  
  
"Then..." he resisted the urge to act like he was talking to a stubborn, slightly unintelligent child.  
  
The Dark Lord's hands clasped together, his face composing itself to a semblance of 'perfectly reasonable'.  
  
"I have something to give you, Young Malfoy," he said. Draco took a step backwards.  
  
"I don't want it," he said quickly, raising his hands in a futile effort to protect himself.  
  
Voldemort chuckled, and all illusions dropped, leaving only the clear cold truth that the man was ruthless, blindingly intelligent, and unbelievably powerful.  
  
"What makes you think I offer you a choice?" he asked, venom and honey dripping from his tone. "You will accept what I give you. There are no other options for you."  
  
Draco shook his head.  
  
"No," he said. This time, the Dark Lord laughed.  
  
"No?" he mimicked. "Ah, Young Malfoy. You do not realise what is happening, do you? You think that when I say 'you have no choice', I mean that I will not allow you any other. There is truth in that, of course. I will not let my desires be thwarted by a boy who still does not know what he truly needs. But it goes beyond that." His eyes gleamed in the spelled light. "You were created to be a receptacle. A vessel, if you will, for my power."  
  
He paused, watched with an indecipherable expression as Draco fought the immediate feelings that bubbled up, fought the expression that wanted to show itself on his face. He closed his eyes, slamming them all away. When he looked up, Voldemort was still watching.  
  
"You see," he continued before Draco could speak, "I knew I could never have a child. It is the price of the power I sought."  
  
The Dark Lord is impotent, Draco heard a tiny voice sing in the back of his head. Go away, he told it irritably, though the faint sound of humming still echoed in his mind.  
  
"But a wizard can only do so much _solus_, and so I found Lucius. I thought then that he was perfect. Or, as perfect as one can be, still marred by the essence of humanity. He was brilliant, powerful, cold, beautiful. So beautiful. And I helped them, your parents. I taught them more than they could have ever known, and gave them the opportunity to test their knowledge. And they gave me you. My perfect Heir."  
  
Voldemort stopped, suddenly, and his silence stifled the outburst that Draco could feel building. He froze as the Dark Lord examined him critically, reaching out with one finger as if to touch him from across the room. He shrugged slightly.  
  
"Well, perhaps not perfect. For that you would have to be loyal. Fortunately, there is little with that requirement. You will become my Heir regardless of your feelings on the matter, because there is nothing else for you to do. If you accept that, it will be much easier for you."  
  
Draco blinked twice, shook his head to clear it. When he looked up, he found himself staring straight into the eyes of the Dark Lord.  
  
"There is always something else," he said, not quite knowing why or what it meant. It didn't really matter, though. He would struggle, he would fight with all he had, but that annoying singsong voice knew with deadly certainty that it would do him no good in the end.  
  
Lord Voldemort smiled benignly, an unsettling image.  
  
"If you choose to believe that, I cannot prevent you, my scion," he said. "It will not help you, but you may believe what you will. _Petrificus totalus_."  
  
Draco stiffened as the familiar feeling swept through his body, as it effectively turned to stone. He could only pray that he maintained some semblance of dignity.  
  
"I cannot have you fighting me," the Dark Lord commented, as if instructing. "Blood is a necessary and integral part of this spell, but used improperly it could prove to be the undoing of both of us. Now, time grows short, and I grow weary of your presence. Wormtail! Where is the blade?"  
  
Pettigrew, who had been standing completely motionless behind Voldemort during the entire discourse, now hurried forwards. He snapped the fingers of his metal hand, and an intricate dagger appeared in it. He handed it to the Dark Lord with a bow, and then dashed back to his position of relative safety.  
  
Nodding, Voldemort held out one skeletal hand. With the tip of the dagger he drew a line from the tip of his index finger across his palm to the opposite side of this wrist. The line glowed a bright red for a moment, and then a more natural colour as blood welled up. As the first drops formed, he turned his hand over, and they fell to spatter on the stone floor.  
  
Softly, he began to speak, words that Draco could not understand, but sent a frisson of fear through him nonetheless. A pale white light began to form around the Dark Lord, clinging to his milky skin for a moment before expanding, reaching outwards. Draco felt a tingling sensation run though his body, and a moment later was blinded by an answering blaze of white. His vision adjusted quickly, and he saw that he and the Snake Lord stood now in a perfect circle of white, with Wormtail hovering anxiously at the outer edge.  
  
Voldemort gestured with one hand. Something changed in the spell that kept Draco bound, and he saw his left arm rise. The blade of the knife was sharper than razor blades, and he didn't feel it when it cut through his skin, only the cold of the wind that followed. Blood pooled in his palm, more quickly than he would have expected, and then with another gesture his hand turned, and the blood joined the other crimson droplets in the ground.  
  
The moment the last drop fell, the entire spell changed. The white light had felt warm, somehow, safe. When the blood stopped falling, the world froze. And then the droplets began to expand. They merged together into a solid puddle of liquid on the floor between the two wizards, began to glow, and their coppery tinge replaced the white.  
  
In the distance, Pettigrew squeaked.  
  
Directly opposite from Draco, Voldemort said four words, whispered under his breath. The crimson glow expanded thousand fold, turned into a searing red brilliance that burned into his eyes, through his skin, until all he could think of was pain.  
  
At the back of his mind, next to the cheerful little voice that seemed to have died suddenly, a thin stream of music floated around his consciousness. Slowly, a violin part rose, blending with the cello as the red light continued to scorch him. Draco shut his eyes, and heard the Dark Lord laugh softly.  
  
Don't open your eyes, he thought. Don't engage. If you can't see what's going on then it's not really happening. Just throw yourself into the music and let the sensations take over, because if you can't see them they're not real.  
  
He didn't know how long it was until the scarlet behind his eyelids dimmed, turned to black, with an afterimage of green. Slowly he opened his eyes.  
  
He was lying on the floor, in what he normally would have called an undignified heap, if he'd been in a condition to call it anything. He picked himself up gingerly, and became aware that although nothing hurt physically, he somehow felt like he'd been run over by the Knight Bus backwards. As he raised his eyes, he saw the figure of the Dark Lord before him.  
  
"You are free to go, now, my scion," he said. "I have no further need for you, not now. But remember this night, remember my gift to you. You will not forget the power, do not forget the source."  
  
And then he was gone, and Wormtail with him, and Draco was alone, surrounded by four impenetrable stone walls. He spun, trying to find a way to leave, and his eyes were caught by twin flashes of green. Potter stepped away from the wall, stood looking at him with an expression that Draco couldn't figure out, didn't want to. It was too close to pity.  
  
Potter looked at him, with that horrible gaze, and then he nodded. He blinked once and then, like the Dark Lord had done, he vanished.  
  
And Draco was alone.The atmosphere in the classroom that day was different than any of the other classes. It seemed almost charged, everyone sitting at their desks with their spheres in front of them, staring intently at Dumbledore, who appeared to be having a nap. Draco, of course, made himself the exception, and was rather pointedly staring around the room at the others, wondering who had managed to come up with the correct transformation spell.  
  
A rather sheepish-looking Gryffindor – Finnigan ... or was it Michaels – suddenly appeared in the doorway, threw himself into a nearby chair, and tried as best he could to look invisible. Draco sneered.  
  
However, this appeared to be the cue the Headmaster had been waiting for, because he looked up from his desk, adjusted his spectacles, and cleared his throat.  
  
"Mister Finnigan, everything is all right?"  
  
Aha, so it _was_ Finnigan. Although, Draco reminded himself, he didn't give a damn. Finnigan shook his head.  
  
"No, sir," he said with an embarrassed grin, and Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"In that case, I believe we can begin." His gaze moved to encompass the entire classroom, and Draco allowed himself to meet it for a moment before his lips curled up again. "You have all had one week to attempt to create a spell to transform your spheres. I expect many of you are discouraged, and rightfully so, by your lack of results. I wish to reassure you that in many cases, your task may already be completed." His eyes twinkled again and Draco almost winced. "You see, your orbs have all been placed in stasis."  
  
On the Gryffindor side of the room, the Mudblood looked absolutely furious, and for once Draco was tempted to agree. Several of the Ravenclaws looked ready to explode, and Boot's hand was in the air at the same time as an astounded 'WHAT?' erupted from his mouth.  
  
"You mean some of us are already done?" he asked. "We could have been done for the whole week, but instead we've had to worry?"  
  
Dumbledore shrugged benignly.  
  
"I have not the faintest idea which, if any, of you have completed the spell correctly. It is dependent upon the person who casts it, and would give me no indication. It could easily be that no one here has been able to cast it. Regardless, I will now alter the condition of the spheres to place them in subjective stasis."  
  
The Mudblood's lips were moving again, thinking. Near him, Draco heard Blaise muttering behind her hand.  
  
"Subjective ... subjective stasis. So ... it's only in stasis for ..."  
  
Dumbledore shook his hand and his wand appeared in it. Drawing a circular shape in the air in front of him, he pronounced,  
  
"_Obscurus Alioqui_."  
  
For a moment nothing happened. Then, suddenly, Crabbe jumped up from beside him.  
  
"I can see it!" he shouted gleefully, holding his plain, round, ordinary orb up for the world to see. "It looks just like a –"  
  
"Idiot!" Draco grabbed him by the back of his robes and dragged him back to his chair. "Don't you think there's a reason Dumbledore made it so the rest of us can't see? You're not supposed to go shouting it to the world. For Mordred's sake, if you used even half the space in your head for thinking!"  
  
"Thank you, mister Malfoy," Dumbledore said calmly. "You are correct. Your orb will appear unchanged to all who view it, save yourself. I will give you twenty minutes to perform whatever further spells are necessary."  
  
The Ravenclaws all looked horribly pleased with themselves, Draco noticed. They examined their orbs with something akin to pride, and he wanted to hurt them. The Hufflepuffs all looked clueless, except for one girl with a long honey-coloured plait, who stared at her sphere with a certain quiet satisfaction. And as always the Gryffindors were as much of a consolation as they could ever be, as inferior beings. The Artist and Pansy's Friend both looked like they'd done something, but Potter, the Mudblood, and Finnigan still seemed completely clueless. The longer the better, Draco thought.  
  
And then he turned his attentions to his own sphere, because it simply would not do to fall behind. Of course, it was all horrendously simple, really. The introduction of the Virinus aspect of things had made it all clear to him. After all, if he didn't need a wand, did he really need spells either? Taking deep breaths, Draco placed both hands on the orb and thought about himself.  
  
It was slow, very slow, but he could tell almost immediately that something was happening. The magic didn't seem to want to come out – the lack of amplifier in the wand combined with the lack of focus in a spell made the entire process more difficult – but it happened, and gradually Draco began to see light appearing around his hands, surrounding the sphere, which began to waver slightly.  
  
Finally, after too long, it was done. Draco took his hands away, and the shape didn't change. Goyle looked at him with a crestfallen expression.  
  
"You couldn't do it?" he asked, sounding as if all of his illusions had been shattered in an instant. Draco resisted the impulse to cuff him soundly on the head. Or curse him.  
  
"Of course I could, you thick-headed imbecile. Dumbledore's spell just means you can't see."  
  
"But ... the light ..." Goyle didn't look convinced, but subsided.  
  
The remainder of the time seemed to pass at an interminable crawl. Draco entertained himself for the most part by watching the blunders of the others, specifically in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Honestly, he thought with disgust, what was the point of the latter house? They were inferior in every aspect of wizarding society – less magical, cowards to their very souls, and stupid idiots to boot. They were all right for manual labour, he supposed, with their never-give-up credo, but to put a Hufflepuff in any position of authority or responsibility was to beg for disaster. Only one other Hufflepuff seemed to have any idea what she had done, talking quietly to the braided one while the rest of her housemates looked on in helpless confusion.  
  
A flash of light on the Gryffindor side made Draco jump, and Finnigan bolted so high he shook the table he was sitting behind. The Artist looked pleased, Finnigan glowered and began mumbling a string of something that Draco knew wasn't a spell. Something exploded. The Artist shrunk back. Finnigan's hair turned violently purple.  
  
Which interrupted the lesson as Dumbledore tried to fix the idiot's mess while keeping a straight face. Several Slytherins tapped him on the shoulder, Blaise giving him a veiled look of lazy boredom and something else, Crabbe grunting and going on until the last possible moment, when he sat up broom-straight and wouldn't say another word.  
  
Dumbledore returned to the head of the classroom, and Draco was disappointed to see that Finnigan's hair had regressed from vibrant purple to its normal, boring shade of brownish something that Draco didn't feel like contemplating. Potter still showed no signs of having done anything, although the Mudblood was looking insufferably smug, and Draco thought that perhaps he wouldn't get to see as many humiliating defeats as he might have liked.  
  
Dumbledore tapped his fingers on his desk.  
  
"I have given you as much time as I can," he said. "There are only two classes today, and I cannot permit this process to go on unsupervised, so I am afraid that those of you who have not completed the charm will be unable to continue today. This is not final, and anyone who has failed may speak with me at a later date. However, now we must continue."  
  
He spun his wand once and drew an intricate pattern in the air in front of him. With a flick of his wrist Dumbledore sent the design forwards towards a clear area of the classroom. He spoke two words that Draco could not catch, and a swirling vortex of white appeared, hanging in mid air.  
  
"Does anyone know what this is?"  
  
Draco contained a snort as four hands rose across the room, only to lower slowly. Of course no one had any idea what it was. He raised his own hand.  
  
Dumbledore looked surprised.  
  
"Mister Malfoy?"  
  
"It's a portal," Draco drawled. He watched with amusement as the entire Ravenclaw House sneered at him. "To a realm that was created to float slightly above ours, a test realm. Given parameters by the Ministry," he sneered, "and divided into several sectors."  
  
The Mudblood looked furious. As did the Ravenclaws. A job well done, then. Dumbledore coughed softly.  
  
"Indeed," he said. "That is correct. How did you come across this information?"  
  
Draco smirked. The old man wouldn't push, he never did. And indeed, the thoughtful look had drifted across the Headmaster's face in a second and then he addressed the class.  
  
"Mister Malfoy is indeed correct," he repeated. "The creation of this portal requires a series of spells given out by the ministry after extensive applications, and only in cases of great need.  
  
"An Animagus testing ground," the Mudblood stated. Brilliant, Draco thought. Fifty points to Gryffindor for that astounding display of intelligence. Dumbledore, predictably, nodded.  
  
"Now, the spell has been set up here," he gestured towards the vortex, "and is complete save for the applicant's contribution."  
  
Almost everyone looked down towards their orb.  
  
"Indeed." Dumbledore sounded pleased. "Now, when I call you up you will throw your orb into the portal. If your spell has been completed correctly, the vortex will open, and you will pass through." He gestured with one hand, and the milky, swirling surface of the vortex cleared to form what resembled a sheer pane of milky glass. Another gesture and it had returned to normal. "If your spell is in any way incorrect, the portal will not change and you will not be able to cross. Are there any questions?"  
  
Draco quickly grabbed onto Goyle's arm and felt it tense.  
  
"But," the mindless idiot blurted out, but Draco twisted his arm and he fell silent.  
  
Dumbledore, looking around, seemed to have missed this. Or perhaps the old man had more sense than Draco had given him credit for. Either way, he beamed.  
  
"None? All right, then. Before anyone does anything rash, I will explain briefly what will happen. As soon as you pass through the portal, you will find yourself in, as I said, an alternate reality. I do not know precisely how this will appear, because it changes depending on the circumstances. However, it will undoubtedly involve wilderness of some sort. You will not find yourselves in London. The purpose of the challenge is to find the portal that will take you out of this world. The shape of the testing ground is relatively rectangular, with you on one end and the portal on the other, so there is no danger of anyone getting stranded. There will be additional tests along the way, as well as things that will assist you. It is up to you how you deal with these. Now, let us begin with ... Ravenclaw. Mister Boot?"  
  
No room for questions, Draco noticed with an amused smirk. There were certainly enough people looking confused, and he was glad that they would have to keep their stupidity to themselves.  
  
A tall brunette got up and picked up his sphere, holding it strangely. Of course, Draco realised, it probably felt no more like an orb than his would. How strange. He approached the swirling vortex with some hesitation, then shrugged and tossed his orb gently into the centre.  
  
There was a bright flash of light and the sound of a bird's cry, and the surface of the vortex curved out to form the shape of an animal before shimmering into the smooth plane the Headmaster had shown them. Draco frowned. Something wasn't right; for the life of him he couldn't remember the animal that had appeared. Cure the Ministry's restrictions. The knowledge of someone's Animagus shape was a valuable tool. Boot stepped through the portal and vanished.  
  
A Gryffindor was selected next, Pansy's Friend, who giggled nervously and pranced towards the vortex with a supposedly cute tilt of her head. Her orb also produced the flare of light and she left the classroom through the portal. Blaise was the first Slytherin chosen, and did the house proud by not utterly humiliating herself. She stepped through the vortex with a toss of her hair, and Draco expected no less.  
  
When the Headmaster selected a Hufflepuff, a small, pug-faced boy Draco had never seen before, he could almost sense the break in the pattern. He moved with the manner of all Hufflepuffs, tossing in his orb into the swirl of light with an attitude that indicated that he really did not expect to succeed. His expectations were met.  
  
The swirling of the vortex stopped for a moment, and then the direction of the movement reversed as the entire class watched with interest. There was a flash of light and the boy's orb dropped from the centre of the vortex to crack on the stone floor of the classroom.  
  
Dumbledore smiled.  
  
"_Reparo_," he said, as the glass mended itself and flew into the boy's hands. "Do not worry, Mister Kyne. You will have another chance."  
  
Remarkably few others had any difficulty; three additional Hufflepuffs and a horrified-looking Ravenclaw had their orbs returned before Draco heard his name called.  
  
There was no question, of course. He moved with confidence, as he always did, and felt no surprise when the flash of light illuminated his animal before the portal appeared. He stepped through, confident of his success as he always was. In the real world, life was perfect for Malfoys.  
  
The world turned white as he passed through the portal, and then black quite suddenly, and Draco felt himself suspended in nothingness. He wasn't sure if his eyes were open or not, if he had eyes at all, and time was something not to even be considered. Sighing, if he even had lungs, Draco waited.He had no idea how long he'd been trapped in the unending darkness before shapes started to appear. Slowly, at first, like a dream, or vision beginning to come into focus, pieces of black seemed to become more, lighten into shapes of trees and a clearing, with other creatures forming a rough circle.  
  
Harry was surprised. There were fewer here than he had expected, given the number of students in the class, but he supposed his optimism was bound to fall flat eventually, and here was as good a place as any. Directly across from him, a snake looked at him with the leisurely insolence he usually attributed to Malfoy. Near the serpent, a gorilla and a large bull looked at each other with looks of animal confusion. The gorilla was intelligent, Harry remembered, if belligerent and slow to learn. Interesting.  
  
A quick look revealed a number of beasts that Harry could imagine as Gryffindors. A small, red fox looked at him and gave a small yip, tilting its head cheerfully in a way that screamed 'Seamus' as if he'd been wearing a sign. Several birds rested on the branches above his head, and a large, black wolf and a snow-leopard regarded each other with detached interest. Ravenclaws, Harry thought at first, and then wondered if the leopard wasn't Dean.  
  
Shrugging mentally, he stopped this guessing game and looked around him. No one really seemed to have any idea what to do, but if Dumbledore had spoken the truth, which he seemed to always do, the portal was on the other end of this place, then there was only one thing to be done.  
  
The Slytherins appeared to think of the same thing. The cobra, which had been coiling and uncoiling itself as if it were waiting for something, straightened in a lightning-quick movement and looked over towards the wolf and the leopard. It seemed to shake its head disdainfully, and then moved to the gorilla and bull, snapping at their heels, herding them out into the jungle.  
  
As if this were some unspoken signal, the other animals began to move as well. The birds flew off, sending sheets of feathers and leaves raining down on the land-bound animals, who were already turning tail and departing in various directions. Harry wondered briefly about the logistics of this 'rectangular' plane. Would the barrier be something visible, like some wards were, or ...  
  
There were better times to ponder. With almost everyone else gone already, save for a poor muskrat who appeared to be having difficulties walking, Harry decided that it was time to move. A low branch stuck out several feet in front of him, and without thinking he tensed his leg muscles and jumped.  
  
It was surprisingly easy. His body, though large, seemed to be built to jump, and he landed with all four paws settled comfortably on the branch. He flicked his long black tail, feeling his entire balance shift ever so slightly. So that's what tails were for. If he stuck to the trees as much as he planned, it would undoubtedly come in useful.  
  
The branches were easy to navigate through the network of branches, moving quickly and efficiently. His body seemed to know how to do everything necessary, moving without direction in a direction Harry hoped would take him towards the portal. He had no idea how time was affected in this world, but he had no desire to spend days trapped in an alternate dimension, regardless of how much the Ministry supervised it.  
  
He wondered suddenly if his every move was being tracked, recorded somehow. The Ministry wanted to know each person's Animagus form; what better way to do it than to monitor the trials. But, that left him with an interesting confliction, because there were illegal Animagi. Which meant that either this system wasn't monitored, or there was another way to go about it.  
  
Harry was dragged from his thoughts suddenly by a flash of light to his left. He turned quickly, just in time to see a movement in the leaves, before a piercing screech disturbed the silence of the forest. From the concealing foliage erupted a large, brightly coloured bird that reminded Harry vaguely of the ones Sirius used to send. He blocked the memory quickly, tensing as he watched the fowl.  
  
The bird shrieked once more and flapped giant, vibrant wings. It shook itself, and then rose into the air, flying directly at Harry, who raised one paw to block it. The next thing he knew, something inside himself had taken control of the action, and the defensive motion had transformed itself into a full blow, claws outstretched. The bird seemed surprised.  
  
She also seemed bloody irritated.  
  
Harry rather immediately wished he hadn't done that, that he'd done something sensible, like run away. Now, rather than simply looking protective, the bird seemed like it wanted to kill him. It came at him again, wickedly hooked talons aimed directly at him, an aggressive look in her eye. Milliseconds before she reached him, Harry leapt off the branch to another limb he prayed was where he thought it was. His claws held firm.  
  
The bird let out an annoyed screech and he could hear her flapping to regain altitude, trying to see where he had gone. Really, the entire thing reminded him vaguely of one of Dudley's video games. He moved backwards until he was near the trunk of the tree and took note of the branch system around him, then twitched his tail noisily and prayed that things in real life worked as well as they seemed to do on the television.  
  
The ornate bird let out a noise somewhere between a shriek and a cackle, and then Harry could see her again, swooping in towards him. He tensed himself once more, crouching low and crossing the imaginary fingers in his mind. The creature continued its decent, gaining speed, and when Harry thought it was too late for her to correct her course he threw everything he had into a sideways leap to a branch just to his left.  
  
The noise of the impact was somewhat disconcerting. For a moment, Harry worried that he had killed her. Then a wing moved, and he heard a somewhat plaintive noise coming from the bundle of feathers. Quickly, before she could add a headache to her list of grievances, he left.Remus Lupin looked down at the stack of papers on his desk and shook his head. It was idiotic, really, some of the things he was forced to cover in his attempt to teach these students something about Muggles. And it was amazing how many students had elected to take the course, showing little or no interest in the subject. It had always had the reputation of being an easy course, a simple E with no effort required, but Remus hadn't thought that that would be enough of a lure for the Slytherins. Apparently he was wrong.  
  
The essay he was reading at the moment was the pinnacle of stupidity. Really, the telephone as a medieval invention used to make the job of bards easier – it was complete and utter idiocy, and certainly not mentioned in any of the texts students were supposed to use as references. Dipping his quill in a small jar of bright blue ink, he wrote,  
  
References are a useful tool, occasionally. Please use them, and resubmit this paper on Thursday.  
  
Merlin, if he wasn't beginning to sound like Severus, Remus realised. Then again, he hadn't truly appreciated what the man went through, teaching Year after Year of students who hated his class. Perhaps there was more to it than met the eye.  
  
Which brought something else to mind, something Remus would have rather ignored, but having been thought of, the issue would not leave him. In three day's time he would be accompanying Severus on his return to the Dark Lord. Voldemort. Together with Hestia, they would make the trek from the school grounds to the Circle, the fabled place where Fates only know what happens. Remus wondered if Severus even had the faintest idea, and then decided that he probably did.  
  
Something about the whole thing made him profoundly uneasy, though. His role on that night would be to act as a guardian for Severus, with Hestia's assistance. That in itself was a mild cause of concern; it was no secret between them that the raven-haired witch did not trust him, nor did she like him. He wondered if she knew how much more he knew of her feelings, and thought that it was unlikely. For reasons that she probably didn't quite understand, the woman hated Remus, distrusted him, and at the root of both of those emotions, she feared him.  
  
With reason, Remus knew. Hestia was a perceptive woman with a high intelligence, those skills combining to give her a clearer understanding than most people had. The general assumption was, and had always been, that Remus was weak. Knowing nothing else, the world looked at his lean frame, the shadows in his eyes, and assumed that he needed help. That he needed protecting. Those who knew his secret assumed that it only added to his burden, making him less capable than the rest of dealing with the horrors of life.  
  
As Hestia almost understood, they could hardly be more wrong.  
  
Granted, in his First year and even Second, things had been difficult. His not-quite matured body, coupled with the natural fear of a young student and the added terror of discovery had combined to create a very insecure young man, for a time.  
  
But that time had passed, quite quickly. Remus had grown into himself, had become comfortable in his form. Despite his reservations, he had made friends quite quickly, and although he didn't completely trust any of them they helped him through the difficult stages of being a student. And with the confidence came strength.  
  
It wasn't only the physical strength, a power that seemed to come more from the Wolf than from muscle. The hours of agony, the long struggles with the beast within him gave Remus mental fortitude as well. The realisation that there was nothing worse in the world than what lay within himself gave him surety. And the knowledge that he had the ability to rip the world to shreds took away his fear. It was hard to really be afraid of Lucius Malfoy with fangs and claws itching to burst free and attack.  
  
The only thing that he ever really feared was himself. He was desperately afraid of what could happen if he relaxed his guard, unleashed any of the darker emotions lurking somewhere near his heart. It was for that reason that he remained quiet, stayed out of the way. The world tended to look over him, protect him and shield him without considering the alternatives, and Remus kept the gentle smile on his face, an impenetrable barrier against the darkness inside him.  
  
Of course, some people had seen through it, or been shown what he was truly capable of. He wondered if Sirius remembered – would have remembered. He somehow doubted that Severus would ever forget. And Severus and Hestia had always been close, so perhaps there was a reason behind her animosity after all.  
  
Which brought Remus back to the beginning again, and brought his unease to the surface. Severus was a brilliant man, without doubt, but not infallible. The Wolfsbane Potion was almost impossible to brew, and the slightest mistake in this case could lead to the Potion Master's death. Remus didn't like that responsibility, sitting cheerfully over his right shoulder.  
  
Of course, they would be in more danger without him there, and that thought was somehow reassuring, in a roundabout sort of way. The Forbidden Forest was _verboten_ for a reason, and Remus suspected that few people knew the true dangers of the place, but with him they would be safe. In his many years as a student, running in the Woods as part of the Marauders, he had established himself as the Alpha. Few creatures would cross a werewolf, even if he were alone and frightened. Remus was not. He had returned to the woods, reacquainted himself with the spirit of the forest, and it knew him once more. Nothing would cross their path. And if it did ...  
  
That was what surprised people the most. The idea of poor Remus Lupin holding his own in the big bad world; not only holding his own, but fighting back, winning. Few people realised at all what truly was, and what that meant. Of those who did, most underestimated the reality of the situation. And this was his greatest advantage. He was a force that no one reckoned on,  
  
Remus sighed. Perhaps not a silver lining, but a lightening of the gloom, at any rate. Nothing would go wrong, of course. The potion had never failed him, and it would not fail him when he needed it next.Harry met the snow leopard again at the edge of the canyon. Which in itself presented a rather large problem; Harry had been minding his own business, quite happily enjoying the black-and-white scenery, when the trees had begun to thin rapidly, and then rather suddenly stopped altogether, leaving him standing on a branch, staring down into a rocky chasm. It didn't appear to be horribly deep, but the point was made somewhat moot by the rapidly- flowing river that began where the chasm ended.  
  
Wonderful, Harry thought. He wondered if perhaps Dumbledore's rectangle wasn't slightly dimensionally-challenged; the canyon seemed to curve in a gentle arc, as if it were part of a giant circle, surrounding this strange world. It stretched as far as Harry could see in either direction, and there was nothing he could see that would make the descent any easier.  
  
There were two things of note, however.  
  
The first was the shadow that he could just see, standing at the edge of the forest about twenty metres to the left of him. As Harry's eyes adjusted, the shadow quickly resolved itself into the shape of a large, black-spotted white cat who seemed to be examining the canyon. The feline was utterly motionless except for the twitching of its tail, but Harry somehow sensed that it was aware of him, just as he had been aware of it.  
  
The other, perhaps more important thing was the fact that the cats were not alone. The Slytherins had already reached the canyon. The cobra was once again coiled lazily, hissing in a way that made absolutely no sense to Harry, while the bull and the gorilla stomped and smashed at the edge of the chasm, sending small showers of rocks cascading down the canyon walls into the river. Slowly, boulder by boulder, they appeared to be ... creating a ramp?  
  
Uh oh, Harry thought. His knowledge of physics wasn't outstanding, but something seemed wrong with the situation. The two animals were moving closer and closer to the edge, breaking off bits around them rather than moving backwards. Although it seemed to be efficient ...  
  
Something moved below him. He looked down to see the leopard gazing sideways at him, tail lashing. Muscles moved in its face, shifting through the body, conveying a message as clearly as if the animal had spoken in English.  
  
_No ... that won't work out. Not the way they expect it to._  
  
Harry blinked. What?  
  
The animal below him looked at him again, that sideways gaze, as if it was confused, or patronising.  
  
_I said, it won't work. Agreeing with you. There was a pause. Are you a ... Hufflepuff?_  
  
Harry laughed, a strange sound coming from an animal, and shook his head. _No_, he thought. _I'm ... not a Hufflepuff_. The leopard wasn't Dean, he was sure. His friend wouldn't have asked that. And there was no reason for Harry to give more information away than he needed to.  
  
Something struck him, suddenly. He looked down at the leopard, who seemed to once again be disinterested in him.  
  
_What did I just say_? he thought, trying to send the idea as forcefully as he could. The leopard looked up at him.  
  
_That you weren't a Hufflepuff_, he replied. There was a pause. _Are you sure you're not a Hufflepuff?_  
  
Harry laughed again.  
  
_Yes_, he replied, _I'm sure. I just didn't know how this talking thing would work. I didn't know I would be able to talk to other animals.  
_  
The leopard looked amused.  
  
_I'm hardly 'another animal', panther. We're in the same family. Of course we can communicate – McGonagall can talk to Mrs. Norris, at any rate.  
_  
Harry blinked, biting back the urge to ask another question. He hadn't known about McGonagall ... not that the ability seemed very transferable. He wasn't exactly in the most panther-populated area. Panthers and leopards, it seemed.  
  
A sudden noise below him drew his attention away from himself, to the three animals at the edge of the canyon. Harry suppressed a snort of amusement; his predictions seemed to have been right after all. The two beasts had continued their steady progress, knocking the rock away until they had formed a peninsula around themselves. Then the gorilla let go a mighty blow at the edge of the rock, and a thundering crack echoed in the still air.  
  
Slowly, the smallest of cracks appeared in the rock. It sped through the ground, widening as it went, snaking across the peninsula as the gorilla and the bull watched with stupid fascination. Then, moments before the crevice reached the opposite side of the newly-created outcropping, both beasts seemed to realise what was going on. The bull reacted first, tossing its horns and trying to shove the gorilla out of the way, and then the entire piece of rock tumbled down into the canyon, the two brutes falling after it.  
  
The snake moved marginally closer to the edge to watch the proceedings, and seemed to shake its head in disbelief before vanishing over the edge.  
  
A slightly bored voice sounded beneath Harry, both in his mind and in his ears. _I don't think we'll be able to take that route._  
  
Harry surveyed the area below him and nodded to himself. No, he agreed. Tensing his muscles, he leapt down from his branch with a single, fluid motion, landing in the flat strip between forest and empty air. Moving slowly up to the edge of the canyon, Harry surveyed the steep incline.  
  
His previous assessment had been correct, he decided; Harry had little desire to jump. He had the strong suspicion that any attempt to do so would be met with broken bones, and much ow-ing in the future, despite all of Dumbledore's reassurances.  
  
Harry heard the leopard come out to stand near him.  
  
_Any suggestions_? He asked hopefully. He could almost feel the other beast think for a moment before the voice answered, self-satisfied.  
  
_None at all._  
  
Harry sighed and shrugged to himself. It was undoubtedly too much to hope for. _Then I guess we'll just have to look around for something, won't we. Or we could just take the brutes' method of descent._  
  
His comment was met with a long silence, laden with amusement and several other emotions that Harry couldn't place, but could feel radiating off the white, spotted cat. Then the shoulders moved in what seemed like acquiescence, and the head nodded.  
  
_We could_, the leopard agreed magnanimously. _Indeed, by all means, you can even go first.  
_  
Harry chuckled and shook his head. _I don't think so_, he replied. _Let's start looking for a way down._  
  
The fact that a partnership had sprung up seemed to go unnoticed by either party member until it was too late to do anything about the fact. For Harry it seemed only natural, more than natural in fact, to be working with the leopard. They were from slightly different geographic regions, perhaps, but the two of them were kin, and in the animal world that meant more than almost anything. The two creatures owed it to each other to assist one another whenever possible, and now was just such a time.  
  
If the leopard had any other thoughts on the matter, it didn't voice them.  
  
That was another thing that had Harry slightly baffled, he thought as he scoured the edge of the canyon for possible modes of descent. Initially, he had understood the leopard's intended messages by reading the minute, almost imperceptible variations in body language. However, he had also most definitely 'heard' the other animal reply when he had been looking away, and there had been almost no noise. Certainly not enough to convey a complex thought.  
  
Perhaps he was overestimating the power of spoken language, or underestimating something else. It was obviously possible, and Harry was aware that he was distracted. The newest communication issues were not the foremost thing on his mind.  
  
A low growl drew his attention away moments later to where the leopard stood, several hundred feet to his left.  
  
_I might have found something_, the animal told him as he loped easily over to where it was standing. _I'm not entirely certain if it will work or not, but it seems to be the best chance. Look – over there.  
_  
The tip of the leopard's tail flicked in the direction of a tree that stood two or three feet away from the edge of the canyon. The ground at its base seemed to be broken up, as if the expansion of the roots had fractured the rock structure, and the tree itself seemed not to be very healthy.  
  
_Will that be big enough to cross_? Harry asked, studying it. The leopard offered a feline shrug.  
  
_I doubt it_, it replied. _But, it should be long enough to get us to that plateau down there, and from that point the jump to the bottom should be easy.  
_  
Harry scowled, as best a panther could.  
  
_There are a lot of 'should's in that sentence_, he pointed out. The leopard glared at him.  
  
_Do you have any other suggestions_? It demanded. Harry thought for a moment and then shook his head.  
  
The leopard seemed to smirk good-naturedly. It lead Harry over until the two were standing directly beside the tree, facing the canyon, and then circled the large plant twice before coming to a halt.  
  
_I think ..._ it began in a tone that suggested a furrowed brow, _I think that we just need to ... push, here. Hard._  
  
Harry snorted.  
  
_Whoever you are, you're not very good at plans_, he commented. He looked at the tree, and then put his shoulder against it, directing all of the power he could come up with into pushing.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Harry tried twice more, and then paused. Something was wrong, he decided, though he couldn't quite place it. Something decidedly out of place in the scenario – and then he realised that the leopard was standing several feet to one side, watching the proceedings with interest.  
  
_If you wanted to help me, you know, I wouldn't turn you down_, Harry called over to it, and the leopard blinked in surprise before letting out a feline laugh and moving to stand beside him.  
  
_One, two, three_? The leopard suggested, and on the third count they both applied their weight to the giant tree. Something shifted slightly, and Harry felt the ground beneath his feet move.  
  
_Again._  
  
This time when they shoved the trunk forwards it groaned, and Harry and the leopard jumped out of the way as the tree began to make its slow descent.  
  
The leopard sat down, nodding to itself.  
  
_And this is where we see if my theory is correct_, it commented.  
  
Harry suppressed the urge to swipe a paw at it, and watched instead as the tree toppled. The few branches still bearing leaves struck the ground with a resounding crack, sending a shower of dead leaves and branches flying everywhere, as well as a small and rather irritated group of nesting birds. The entire thing then began to slide, moving down into the canyon. The root end caught on bits of rock, dragging them with it, slowing the motion of the trunk until finally it caught on an outcropping of rock and stopped moving completely.  
  
The entire thing hung suspended midway between the top and bottom of the canyon, several feet away from the edge on the top, and almost touching the small ledge that the leopard had spotted on the bottom.  
  
The leopard looked smug, and then paused for a moment.  
  
_I suppose the question is; will it hold our weight_, it wondered aloud. _One way to find out.  
_  
Harry barely had time to register this before the other feline was moving, but instead of jumping, as Harry had feared, it simply ran towards a rather large chunk of rock that had been loosened by the passage of the tree, and threw its entire weight at it.  
  
The rock slid forwards, reaching the edge of the canyon and toppling over. As it fell it smashed against the roots of the tree, which shook but scarcely moved. The leopard nodded to itself.  
  
_That should hold_, it said over its shoulder to Harry, who had watched the entire thing with a feeling of slight shock. _Well? Are you coming?_  
  
With that it vanished over the edge of the canyon.Hestia awoke when her quill dropped from her fingers, the silver bead at the end of the plume hitting the lead covering of the inkwell with a musical chime. She jerked upright, pulling long strands of black hair away from her face and back into the leather thong that kept them under control. Looking down at her desk she saw that the tip of her quill had landed on the desk, not touching any of the scrolls she had been marking. A droplet of ink was slowly growing, developing into a small pool on the polished surface of the desk. A whispered word and a wave of her wand left the wood spotless once more, and Hestia was free to continue with her work.  
  
Except that the last traces of her dream still clung to her mind, refusing to disperse as she wished them to. She remembered little of it: only the looming shapes of giant stones, moonlight filtered through the leaves, and a blood-chilling howl that was all too close. Her dream had been monochrome, she realised. She had dreamed as a wolf.  
  
Which brought the upcoming events sharply to mind. Giving up on her work, abandoning it before she had really begun, Hestia set down her quill in its stand and gazed out the window at the darkening sky, thinking. If only there was some other way to do this, someway to put someone else in danger, instead of Severus. Not that the man would allow anyone else to take the place he felt was his. He would atone forever and still feel that he had not paid enough back, Hestia knew. He was like that, always had been, even before he'd had anything to atone for.  
  
The man held a special place in her heart, one that she suspected he knew nothing about.  
  
He was two years her senior, had already settled into his role when she arrived at Hogwarts, terrified and alone. Her parents had been Ravenclaws both, her Grandfathers Ravenclaw as well, Gran a Hufflepuff, and Damma in Gryffindor. Her family was not one of cunning, of deception, of stealth or practicality. When word came of the Sorting, they had congratulated her with words that she barely understood, and then left her alone while they contemplated the situation.  
  
And Hestia had been shocked. She had felt betrayed, somehow, and uncertain as to this newly discovered portion of her identity. The other Slytherins welcomed her as one of them, but offered no outlet for her love of knowledge, her wilder streak, until she met Severus. He was Slytherin to the bone, naturally, but perhaps he was a bit more open than the rest. At the age of thirteen he had offered the eleven-year-old girl the chance to be herself.  
  
Of course, he didn't know any of this. He probably had no idea why she continued to keep up her acquaintance with him, long after she could have dropped him. Her opinion of him always seemed to have puzzled him, and Hestia still enjoyed surprising him with obvious, if platonic, affection. She hoped to maintain the current easy friendship she had with him until ... well, until a point beyond reckoning.  
  
And now he was going off, perhaps to his death.  
  
Who did it help, she wondered. What end could possibly be reached? Albus would have his spy back, and the world of Good and Light would know once more what the Enemy was planning. But she had spies as well, good men and women who could not do as much individually, perhaps, but worked wonders as a team. Was it really necessary for Severus to risk his life again?  
  
Hestia sighed and shook her head, fingers absently reaching out to toy with the silver bead on her quill. Of course it was. She had heard the Headmaster, heard Severus, even Remus, as much as she hated the man. She knew, when she really analysed the situation, that Severus was the only man who could give them a chance to know the truth, undiluted by anything other than pain and loathing.  
  
She only wished that there was a way to ensure his safety. Placing Severus in the hands of an Animagus, even herself, and a _werewolf_ was not comforting to her. She had hard the wolf tales, of course, knew the procession that Lupin should bring with him, but it did not ease her tension at all.  
  
Hestia shivered. The rooms were getting cooler in the evenings, now, and her office was not in one of the better insulated areas. She had little enough time as it was, with only three days to prepare herself for what she was about to do, who she had to trust. Lupin might end up as the only key to Severus's survival. Hestia had to be sure that she would be able to let him do his job.  
  
Reaching past her quill she picked up her wand from the desk and waved it once, whispering a spell. A small globe appeared over her left shoulder, casting off faint light and warmth. Settling her shoulders, Hestia put the unpleasant thoughts behind her and picked up her quill.Sometimes, Severus wondered why he was still a teacher. The idiocy of these latest brats made him want to scream, and taking off points was fast becoming an addiction: the only thing that would see him through the day. This last year had brought with it a breed of imbeciles to rival even his current Sixth Years, if it was possible. And Dameneca Bohrn was the worst of the lot, the reason he was still standing in the Potions Lab, long after class had ended, trying to figure out how to fix the mess in front of him.  
  
It had been a relatively simple potion to create, or it should have been; any halfwit was capable of mixing together three liquids and one solid ingredient. Severus rarely brought out the potion because of its utter simplicity. And yet, somehow a simple concoction meant to break up the components of ink had become a viscous syrup that clung to everything, turning any pure elemental parts into a strange metallic alloy. It shouldn't have been possible at all, much less with the limited range of ingredients possible.  
  
And one factor hung over the entire incident, making matters infinitely worse. Bohrn was a Slytherin.  
  
That little piece of shame kept at Severus with dogged perseverance as he tried spell after spell on the strange substance. _Forbio_ did nothing, nor did _evanesco_ or any of the other basic cleaning spells. A banishing charm did nothing, nor did the vanishing charm, and _laxo cuncto_, a rather complicated fourth-level reversal spell that was designed to undo anything in a given situation momentarily returned the desk to the tree it was once made of, the syrup slowly dripping down the trunk. Severus undid the damage with a disgusted wave of his wand and settled down to think.  
  
There were very few members on staff that he trusted enough to look after his Potions classes. Many of the other staff members had someone trained to fill in for one or two emergency lessons but Severus had never seen the necessity, having taught every class for the past eight years. The idea of Severus Snape missing a class was almost unfathomable, but apparently even the unfathomable could come to pass, and now he didn't know what to do.  
  
Vector was intelligent enough, he supposed. He even respected her, but that was part of the problem; the woman was burdened with enough classes as it was, Severus could hardly force his entire workload on her as well. Trelawney had little enough to do, but he would be damned if he would let her near any of his supplies.  
  
He trusted Hestia. He more than trusted her, and he knew that she would be more than capable of dealing with anything that came up, but she too had a large number of classes, and she wouldn't be able to take the first of his classes. She would be with him.  
  
Severus shook his head. He did not want to think about that. He had put it out of his mind for as long as possible, but he had to prepare a substitute for his classes, and that meant acknowledging that there would be a reason for his absence.  
  
He didn't want to go. More than anything else he had ever feared, he feared returning to Lord Voldemort. What he hadn't acknowledged to anyone, what Albus might or might not have known, was the legitimate chance that the Dark Lord would look at him and kill him where he stood. It was unlikely, Severus knew, because Voldemort enjoyed watching suffering, and the Killing Curse was relatively painless, but the chances were greater than anyone was admitting. He might not return from the Circle.  
  
And that was another factor. If it had been any other place, anywhere but Voldemort's Circle, he might have thought he stood a chance. But the stones that surrounded the gathering-place stood as a constant reminder to all of the Death Eaters: here stands the price of betrayal. For, all of the stones had been people, once. And they had betrayed the Dark Lord. Severus had never witnessed the transformation, but in some of the newer Stones an observer could still see the terror etched into the material.  
  
And he could be next.  
  
Still, at least the chances were that he would make it to the Circle alive. Hestia would watch his back, he knew. She was intelligent enough not to get herself caught, and might even be of some assistance in terms of direct protection. And then there was Lupin, and as much as Severus hated to admit it, even privately, he thought that Lupin might be the chief reason for his survival. Even as a man he was a force to be reckoned with, when he felt the need. As a Wolf, Severus thought few creatures would dare cross him, or survive their attempt. With Lupin on his side, perhaps there was a way.  
  
Severus surveyed his classroom, put his wand away in his sleeve. There was one person, he realised, who he might be able to trust to do the job. Sinistra taught few enough classes in the daytime, and she was methodical. Her classes were planned out in advance, so the request would not hurt her preparation. She was also a reasonably good Potions worker, Severus remembered from his days as a student. His professor had adored her, so perhaps it would be all right in the end.  
  
He turned right at the juncture in the hallways, away from the safety of his dungeons and towards the tea-filled nightmare of Albus's office. The Headmaster would inform Amaré of his request, and undoubtedly have advice to offer.  
  
And perhaps, if he got lucky, he would run into Potter. The need to deduct points was building up inside of him, and he had been chided once this year about being unnecessarily harsh to the students.  
  
Satisfied, Severus nodded to himself, and walked away. 


End file.
